, 


SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE 
MAKING 


A  WRITERS'  AND  STUDENTS'  INTRODUCTION 
TO  THE  TECHNIQUE  AND  PRACTICAL  COM- 
POSITION OF  SHORT  STORIES,  INCLUDING 
AN  ADAPTATION  OF  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF 
THE  STAGE  PLOT  TO  SHORT  STORY  WRITING 


BY 

ROBERT  WILSON  NEAL,  A.M. 


NEW  YORK 
OXFORD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

AMERICAN  BRANCH:  35  WEST  32ND  STREET 

LONDON,  TORONTO,  MELBOURNE,  AND  BOMBAY 
HUMPHREY  MILFORD 

1914 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


q 

N 


Copyright,  1914 

BY  OXFORD  UNIVERSITY  PREBS 
AMERICAN  BRANCH 


To 

My  Wife 


FOREWORD 

WHAT  is  wanting  in  this  book,  critics,  teachers,  and 
students  will  all  too  readily  discover  without  my  help.  Let 
me  rather  point  out,  then,  what  it  is  meant  to  do. 

First.  It  deals  with  short  stories  (contes)  in  the  mak- 
ing. Therefore  it  is  intended  for  the  writer.  And  be- 
cause many  of  the  readers  most  interested  in  such  a  book 
are  beginners,  it  is  intended  in  large  part  for  the  in- 
experienced. Yet  it  is  intended  for  the  advanced  under- 
taker of  story -telling  too ;  for  no  one  can  stake  the  border 
between  elementary  theory  and  expert  application  of  it, 
and  even  the  experienced  writer  may  find  surety  and 
improved  method  in  a  study  of  technique.  Yet  the  book 
is  for  the  non-writer  also — for  him  who  wishes  in  compact 
form  a  reasonably  complete  and  concrete  explanation  of  the 
short  story  and  its  nature. 

Second.  The  book  does  not  profess  to  be  scholarly — 
certainly  not  to  be  scholarly  in  the  academic  sense.  It  has 
avoided  the  historical  entirely ;  it  attempts  no  comparative 
studies  in  development  and  types,  no  evaluating  estimates ; 
it  is  not  a  research  volume,  and  the  reader  will  seek  through 
it  from  end  to  end  without  finding  a  single  formal  citation 
of  authorities,  the  proof  that  the  writer  knows  the  conven- 
tional doctrine,  dares  not  depart  from  it,  and  is  ready  with 
marshaled  knowledge  to  protect  himself  from  any  who 
may  accuse  him  of  betraying  the  gentle  trusting  reader  by 
novelty  or  new  departure.  Not  that  this  book  can  pretend 
to  either  of  these.  At  most  (and  even  this  it  does  not 

vii 


viii  FOKEWOKD 

prof  ess) ,  it  adds  a  trifle  of  discussion  at  a  place  or  two. 
But  it  does  undertake  to  make  its  own  approach  and  use 
its  own  plan  in  summarizing  what  is  our  present 
edge  of  the  theory  and  technique  of  the  short  story. 

Third.  The  book  is  written,  not  from  the  critic*] 
from  the  practicing  author's  viewpoint — from  the  stand- 
ing-ground and  outlook  of  the  man  to  whom  the  abstract 
theory,  although  interesting  and  valuable,  is  less  interesting 
and  valuable  than  the  concrete  management  and  application 
of  it.  It  is  written  to  meet  the  needs  of  the  man  who,  for 
practical  and  utilitarian  reasons  no  less  than  from  ab- 
stract intellectual  interest,  desires  to  know  the  what,  the 
how,  and  the  why  of  the  short  story.  I  have  written  good, 
bad,  and  indifferent  short  stories,  and  hope  to  keep  on 
writing;  and  this  interest  in  the  mechanics,  the  artisanry 
and  art,  the  technique  of  the  work,  has  caused  me  to  treat 
the  subject  from  the  viewpoint  of  the  active  worker  rather 
than  from  that  of  the  esthetic  theorist  or  the  literary 
investigator.  Throughout,  I  have  been  concerned  to  learn 
the  governing  rule,  and  then  to  state  it  in  such  form  that 
my  statement  may  make  it  available  to  other  practitioners, 
especially  to  apprentice  workers  striving  to  extend  their 
workman's  knowledge  and  develop  their  artisan  skill. 
(The  author  expects  to  publish  soon  a  companion  volume, 
To-day's  Short  Stories  Analyzed,  in  which  the  practice 
of  modern  writers  of  short  stories  will  be  fully  illustrated 
and  exemplified.) 

Fourth.  Most  of  the  principles  stated  are  drawn  as 
much  from  reading  and  observation  of  the  ordinary  mill 
run  of  short  fiction,  in  book  collections  and  in  magazines, 
for  the  last  twenty  years,  as  they  are  from  the  recognized 
authorities  on  short  story  writing.  He  who  reads  and  runs 


FOREWORD  ix 

away  sometimes  carries  with  him  well-defined  ideas  that 
are  usable  another  day ;  and  I  have  felt  that  such  readers' 
observations  and  conclusions  are  as  valuable  in  checking 
up  the  statements  of  the  authorities,  as  the  statements  of 
the  authorities  are  in  checking  up  one's  own  observations 
and  conclusions.  I  owe  (as  any  one  can  see  from  this 
book)  a  great  debt  to  some  of  these  authorities — especially 
to  Pitkin,  Albright,  and  Esenwein,  if  I  must  discriminate 
— and  I  here  acknowledge  it,  with  gratitude.  But  even  so 
I  have  endeavored  to  remain  independent  in  reaching  and 
stating  my  conclusions ;  and  in  this  I  have  been  frequently 
aided  by  personal  experience  of  success  or  failure  in 
handling  problems  of  like  sort  in  my  own  writing. 

Fifth.  The  book  attempts  to  define  terms  with  especial 
precision ;  with  tedious  over-precision,  some  may  think.  It 
tries,  too,  not  to  employ  the  same  term  with  two  meanings 
in  any  position  where  confusion  may  result.  Probably 
it  fails  sometimes  in  this  attempt  to  avoid  ambiguity  and 
confusion;  but  on  the  whole  I  trust  that  it  succeeds 
enough  to  lessen  for  its  readers  the  difficulties  of  this  sort 
that  occasionally  I  have  met  in  my  own  reference  to 
treatises  upon  fiction. 

Sixth.  Plot  being  indispensable  to  the  true  short 
story,  or  conte,  and  the  short  story  being  in  effect  a  narra- 
tive drama,  the  book  undertakes  to  re-present  the  familiar 
theory  of  the  stage  play,  but  to  present  it  adapted  and 
applied  to  the  nature  and  needs  of  the  short  story.  This 
fact  calls  for  mention  only  because  so  outright  an  applica- 
tion of  formal  stage  plot  theory  to  short  story  narration 
has  not  been  made  elsewhere — not,  at  least,  in  English. 
A  satisfactory  treatment  of  the  theory  of  the  specialized 
short  story  (conte)  plot  has  yet  to  be  produced;  but  lacking 


x  FOREWORD 

it,  the  student  will  find  in  a  re-statement  of  the  theory  of 
stage  plot  like  that  given  in  this  book,  a  helpful  presenta- 
tion of  essential  principles.  .  .  . 

Need  of  a  specialized  term  by  which  to  indicate  the 
specialized  form  of  short  fiction  sometimes  awkwardly 
called  the  true  short  story,  has  long  been  felt.  Professor 
Canby's  suggestion  of  the  term  conte  has  not  been  bettered ; 
and  as  without  undue  violence  to  historical  descent  or  .to 
strict  meanings  conte  can  be  applied  to  this  particular 
type  of  short  prose  fiction,  I  have  ventured  to  employ  it 
interchangeably  with  the  term  "  short  story,"  in  order 
that  students  using  this  book  may  at  least  become  familiar 
with  this  possible  synonym. 

Those  who  complain  of  the  fullness  and,  possibly,  re- 
dundancy of  the  treatment  given  very  simple  matters,  I 
would  ask  to  remember  that  the  book  is  largely  for  begin- 
ners in  short  story  writing  and  readers  of  ordinary  educa- 
tion seeking  instruction  or  an  increase  in  literary  under- 
standing and  appreciation,  who  can  find  these  things 
in  study  of  short  story  principles.  Those  who  mislike 
the  occasional  discussion  of  remote  or  special  problems, 
will  please  remind  themselves  that  I  am  writing  for 
persons  also  who  have  more  than  a  tyro's  interest  in  the 
technicalities  of  the  subject.  Those  who  blame  me  for 
omitting  an  explanation  of  narration  itself,  are  referred 
to  the  numerous  excellent  treatises  already  in  print  upon 
the  general  principles  of  narrative  writing,  with  the  sug- 
gestion that  even  in  writing  about  the  short  story,  one 
must  begin  somewhere,  assuming  some  preparation  at 
least  for  study  of  the  special  type.  And  those  who  wonder 
why  matters  so  important  to  literary  art  as  style  and 


FOREWORD  xi 

esthetic  qualities  are  not  discussed,  are  told — in  the  strict- 
est confidence,  please — that  style  and  literary  art  are  quite 
another  story. 

A  last  word — to  those  who  scoff  at  "  attempts  to  manu- 
facture writers."  This  book  is  written  to  guide  and  help 
persons  who  wish  to  write  short  stories.  But  it  is  not 
written  with  the  belief  that  short  story  writing,  or  any 
other  form  of  literary  composition,  can  be  taught.  It 
cannot.  Literature  is  art,  and  art  is  incommunicable. 
Theories  of  its  methods  and  success  can  be  inferred  and 
explained;  its  practical  technique  can  frequently  be  ex- 
plained and  acquired.  But  neither  theory  nor  technique 
makes  art;  the  living  spirit  is  not  in  them.  Moreover, 
many  a  person  who  aspires  to  write  lacks  ability  to  achieve 
even  technique.  Books  such  as  this  are  not  written  with 
any  other  belief.  They  can  aid  intellectual  expansion; 
they  can  enable  the  competent  to  acquire  technique;  but 
more  than  this  they  cannot  do  unless  the  student  bring  to 
them  an  equipment  of  capacity,  ability,  and  natural  gift 
approaching  talent  or  genius.  Technique  can  produce 
well  conceived,  well  planned,  well  constructed,  and  often 
salable  stories,  but  it  cannot  produce  living  literature. 
Let  no  prospective  student  think  otherwise. 

EGBERT  W. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

CHAPTER  I.    THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  (CONTE)    .        1 

I.  Fiction  Aims  at  the  Interpretation  of  Life  and  the  Di- 

version of   the  Reader,   by  Means  of  Concrete 
Presentation^ 

II.  The  Short  Story,  or  Conte,  Is  a  Type  in  Itself. 

III.  The  Short  Story,  or  Conte,  is  a  Drama  in  Narrative.     * 

IV.  The    Plot   of   the   Short    Story,   or    Conte,    Must   Be 

Dramatic. 

V.  The  Short  Story  Requires  Persons  in  Action  in  a  Time 

of  Crisis. 

VI.  Singleness  of  Effect  Is  Necessary  to  the  Short  Story. 

VII.  The  Short   Story,  or  Conte,  May  Aim  at  Different 

Kinds  of  Effect. 

VIII.  Some  Short  Stories,  or  Contes,  Emphasize  Theme. 

IX.  Some  Short  Stories  Emphasize  Plot. 

X.  Some  Short  Stories  Emphasize  Character. 

XI.  Some  Short  Stories  (Contes)   Emphasize  Atmosphere. 

» 
CHAPTER  II.    THEORY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT       .         .71 

XII.  The  Short  Story  Plot  Much  Resembles  That  of  the     ^ 

One-Act  Play. 

XIII.  The  Exposition  Is  the  Introducing  Part  of  the  Plot. 

XIV.  The  Exciting  Moment,  or  Inciting  Impulse,  Begins 

the  Development. 

XV.  The  Rising  Action  Develops  the  Plot  to  Its  Decisive 

Moment. 

XVI.  The  Falling  Action  Brings  the  Outcome  and  Close. 

CHAPTER  III.    THE  COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTRUCTION  OF  THE 

SHORT    STORY 122 

XVII.  The    Opening    Seizes    Interest,    Introduces    Action, 

Strikes   the  Keynote,  and    (Perhaps)    Conveys 
Exposition. 

XVIII.  The  Purposes  of  the  Opening  Can  Be  Served  by 

Various  Kinds  of  Beginning. 

xiii 


xiv  TABLE  OP  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

XIX.  In  the  Body  of  the  Story,  the  Chief  Constructional 

Problem  Is  That  of  Sequence. 

XX.  The  Ending,  if  Separate  from  the  Climactic  Moment, 

Exists  Merely  to  Supplement  and  Close  the 
Narrative. 

XXI.  A  Preliminary  Scheme  of  Important  Compositional 

Facts  Will  Help   the  Author. 

CHAPTER  IV.    OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION -WRITING    .         .178 

XXII.  Observance    of    Certain    "Unities"    Prevents    Dis- 

persal  of   Effect.  % 

XXIII.  Decision   upon  Plot  and  Selection   of   Developing 

Material  Must  Be  Determined  by  the  Author's 
Detailed  Familiarity  with  the  Facts  Involved. 

XXIV.  Characterization     Involves      the      Presenting     of 

Human  Traits,  Class  Attributes,  and  Personal 
Traits  and  Mannerisms. 

XXV.  "  Character "  Implies  an  Original  Conception  of  a 

Person  Having  Definite  Individuality;  Its 
Traits  Being  Portrayed  by  Description,  An- 
alysis, Psychological  Narration,  and  Especially 
Act  and  Speech. 

XXVI.  Dialogue   Lightens  the   Narrative,   Contributes  to 

Exposition    and    Intensification,    Furthers    Ac- , 
tion,   and  Characterizes. 

XXVII.  The  Main  Practical   Problems  of   Dialogue  Are, 

How  to  Make  Sure  of  Essential  Truthfulness 
and  Produce  Verisimilitude. 

AFTERWORD.    THE  QUESTION  ANSWERED    .         .         .         .249 


CHAPTER  I 

THEORY  OF  THE   SHORT  STORY  TYPE,   OR 

OONTE 

I.  FICTION  AIMS  AT  THE  INTERPRETATION  OF  LIFE  AND 
THE  DIVERSION  OF  THE  READER,  BY  MEANS  OF  CON- 
CRETE PRESENTATION 

1.  When  we  ask,  what  is  the  purpose  of  fiction?  we 
find  that  a  complete  answer  must  include  two  assertions. 
True,  in  many  discussions  concerning  fiction,  its  structure, 
its  methods,  and  the  like,  sometimes  one  of  these  asser- 
tions, sometimes  the  other,  is  disregarded.    But  a  complete 
understanding — one  that  is  philosophically  sound — never- 
theless  cannot   be   had   without    including  both    in   the 
answer. 

2.  These  two  purposes  of  fiction  when  fiction  is  typical 
and  at  its  best,  are: 

A.  To  interpret  human  life,  and 

B.  To  interest  (amuse,  divert,  entertain)  the  reader. 
"  Interpret  "  must  here  be  understood  to  mean,  produce  in 
the  reader  a  clearer  understanding  of  or  a  sense  of  having 
experienced  human  life.     But  much  good  fiction  is  pro- 
duced in  which  emphasis  is  laid  mainly  and  even  solely 
on  entertainment.      This  does  not,  however,  mean  that 
such  fiction  is  without  interpretive  value. 

3.  We  must  understand,  however,  that  this  interpretive 
aim  is  not  an  immediate,  but  rather  an  ultimate  and  sub- 


g,  SIIOET  STOEIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

conscious  aim.  The  author  is,  at  the  moment  of  writing, 
not  engaged  expressly  in  producing  an  interpretation,  but 
in  giving  a  clear  account  of  certain  persons  and  acts  as  he 
sees  them.  Yet  as  a  serious  man,  given  to  observing  and 
pondering  life,  he  feels  himself  responsible  for  a  sincere, 
accurate  report.  Such  an  author  would  not  be  satisfied 
with  his  work  unless,  under  all  its  artistry,  wit,  humor, 
incident,  plot,  and  amusement,  there  were  to  be  found  a 
definite  view  of  existence;  and  though  he  may  not  aim  first 
of  all  directly  at  interpreting  humanity,  yet — in  the  end 
— this  often  is  his  great  purpose. 

4.  With  the  best  writers,  this  need  of  showing  forth 
mankind  "  as  in  itself  it  truly  is,"  constitutes  the  great 
and  often  the  all-sufficient  compulsion  to  writing.     His 
very  nature  compels  the  true  fiction-writer  to  interpret 
life.    Nevertheless,  much  diverting  or  merely  entertaining 
fiction  is  written  in  which  the  emphasis  is  laid  on  the 
amusement,   not   on   the   interpretation.     But  with   the 
steady  advancement  made  by  the  reading  public  in  the 
appreciation  of  technique  and  the  power  to  comprehend 
human  motives,  even  the  writer  who  aims  only  to  amuse 
must  in  our  day  base  his  tale  upon  conceptions  that  are 
true  to  the  world  as  clear-sighted  men  know  it  to  be.     The 
best  fiction  of  its  very  nature  does  and  must  have  both 
these  aims.     Interest  and  interpretation  are  so  combined 
by  the  best  art  that  no  one  but  persons  of  limited  mentality 
or  education  can  fail  to  profit  from  and  appreciate  each 
of  the  twain. 

5.  Fiction,  we  have  said,  must  interpret  life.     But  to 
interpret  life,  it  must  first  present  life.    Frequently — in- 
deed, more  frequently  than  many  authors  realize — this  is 
all  it  needs  to  do  to  interpret  life.    A  true,  vivid,  stirring 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  3 

presentation  is  enough  to  compel  us  to  sense,  think  about, 
and  understand  more  fully  this  human  world.  Seeking 
the  shortest  expression  of  the  purpose  of  fiction,  we  there- 
fore may  say  that  fiction  aims  to  present  life.  Now  let  us 
see  how  fiction  may  effect  this  presentation. 

6.  To  present  life,  fiction  must  embody  some  truth  or 
truths  of  human  life ;  for  only  truths,  only  abstract  con- 
clusions, more  or  less  completely  perceived  and  appreci- 
ated, make  up  what  we  call  our  understanding  of  life. 
But  in  dealing  with  these  truths,  fiction  does  not  much 
discuss  them,  expound  them,  or  argue  about  them.    Neither 
does  it  seek  to  deal  with  them  as  abstract  truths  at  all. 
On  the  contrary,  it  seeks  to  avoid,  not  only  the  abstract 
form  of  the  truth,  but  also  the  explanatory  methods  essen- 
tial in  dealing  with  truths  as  abstract  thoughts.    It  prefers 
instead  to  show  forth  concrete  facts  in  concrete  forms, 
letting  the  abstract  truth  that  underlies  these  facts   be 
expressed  in  the  facts  themselves.     That  is,  -fiction  seeks 
as  its  final  result  to  embody,  or  body  forth,  some  truth 
or  truths  of  human  life,  but  seeks  to  bring  about  this  re- 
sult in  a  particular  way;  namely,  by  embodying,  or  bodying* 
forth,  in  concrete  form  specific  and  concrete  facts  wherein 
the  truths  of  life  are  exemplified.    We  must,  however,  note 
this:  Fiction  does  not  necessarily  begin  its  presentation 
with  these  truths  in  mind;  that  they  are  found  in  the 
work  of  the  good  artist,  he  could  not  help  if  he  would, 
for  they  are  embodied  there  as  a  result  of  that  process  of 
concrete  presentation  which  fiction  must  employ.    Fiction 
has,  as  its  immediate  purpose,  to  body  forth,  not  truths, 
but  concrete  facts,  of  human  life. 

7.  What  "  concrete "  means  a  few  illustrations  will 
show.      Anger   is   one   of   the   facts   of  human  life — an 


4  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

unpleasant  truth  in  our  existence.  Yet  no  one  ever  saw, 
tasted,  smelt,  touched,  or  heard  anger ;  he  merely  has  seen 
and  heard  manifestations  of  it.  Anger  as  we  know  it  is 
an  abstraction.  But  a  scowl,  a  blow,  a  curse — these  are 
concrete  things  that  manifest  anger.  Again,  charity  does 
not  take  on  a  concrete  form  until  some  individual  act  of 
charity  is  done — a  shilling  passed  to  a  ragged  beggar,  or 
a  wearied  laborer  given  a  lift  in  our  automobile.  Such 
acts  are  concrete  manifestations  of  a  thing  which  is  merely 
an  idea  bearing  the  name  "  charity." 

8.  So  is  the  great  engine  in  the  ship's  depths  a  concrete 
embodiment   of  power,    as   is  likewise  the   stroke  of   a 
hammer  that  drives  in  a  nail.     Affectionate  devotion  is 
concretely  embodied  in  the  acts  of  Mr.  Peggotty,  wander- 
ing throughout  southern  Europe  in  search  of  his  wayward 
Little  Em'ly.    It  is  embodied  equally  as  much  in  a  wife's 
act  when  she  writes  a  letter  of  forgiveness  to  the  husband 
who  has  wronged  her. 

9.  In  short,  by  ff  concrete  "  we  here  mean  an  individual 
instance;  for  in  such  an  instance,  we  can  always  discover 

•  bodied  forth,  or  manifested,  a  truth  of  human  nature  and 
life.  Moreover  (although  this  fact  is  not  necessary  to  our 
essential  understanding  of  the  term),  the  concrete  mani- 
festation always  comes  to  us  embodied  in  acts  or  facts  that 
in  part  at  least  we  can  perceive  by  means  of  our  physical 
senses.  Only,  in  fiction  we  are  not  in  the  presence  of  the 
actual  fact ;  the  fact  is  presented  to  us,  not  in  actuality,  but 
in  an  imagined  form,  by  means  of  words. 

10.  This  presence  of  imagined  instead  of  actual  fact  is 
vital  to  fiction;  for  the  very  term  "  fiction  "  carries  the 
idea  of  things  made  up  by  the  mind.     Fiction  deals,  not 
with  pure  fact,  which  is  only  something  actual,  but  with 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  5 

imagined  fact  conceived  to  embody  truth;  and  truth, 
though  not  actual,  is  something  better  than  actual — that 
is,  real.  Actual  fact  can — let  us  realize  it  now — be  less 
true  than  fiction.  A  few  years  ago,  a  community  near 
New  York  was  shocked  by  the  act  of  a  father  who  burned 
his  children's  tender  hands  with  match  flames  as  a  means 
of  "  teaching'7  them.  The  report  was  true;  he  did  just 
that.  But  what  he  did  was  terribly  untrue  to  human  life. 
The  truth  of  human  life  is,  that  most  parents  love  their 
children  and  undergo  suffering  and  death  to  save  the' 
little  ones.  This  is  a  reality  of  parental  nature,  a  truth  of 
life,  not  a  mere  fact,  which  may  be  quite  untrue  to  life. 
The  less  effective  forms  of  fiction  are  those  that  come  closer 
to  actual  fact;  they  present  truths  which  are  of  a  less 
general  nature,  and  hence  are  more  nearly  like  actual  facts 
and  less  like  universal  principles.  Melodrama,  for  illus- 
tration, imagines  what  might  happen  sometimes,  but  is 
unlike  the  general  course  of  life ;  it  deals  with  the  excep- 
tional fact,  not  the  general  truth. 

11.  We  can  now  sum  up  in  a  final  statement  the  aim 
of  fiction.     Fiction  deals  with  the  truths  of  human  life; 
it  aims  to  present  these  truths  embodied  in  concrete  forms, 
or  instances;  and  it  deals  with  imagined  facts,  not  with 
the  actual.    We  say  therefore  that  the  aim  of  fiction  is,  to 
present  some  truth  or  truths  of  human  life  manifested  con- 
cretely in  a  body  of  imagined  fact. 

12.  Before  we  close  this  section,  however,  a  few  words 
will  be  worth  while  about  imagination.     Imagination  is 
the  power  or  operation  of  the  mind  that  builds  up  new 
conceptions,  ideas,  or  pictures  out  of  those  already  in  its 
possession — that  is,  out  of  experience.    Experience  is  made 
up  of  all  the  knowledge — physical,  mental,  moral,  spiritual 


6  SHORT  STOKIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

— that  has  come  to  us  in  any  way,  by  any  means,  at  any 
time. 

13.  There  are  three  degrees  of  imagination.    The  most 
ordinary  imagination  is  that  which  merely  reproduces  in 
its  possessor's  mind  a  body  of  imagined  fact  entirely  simi- 
lar to  the  actual  fact  from  which  the  imagination  has 
drawn  its  originals.    It  does  little  more  than  reproduce  in 
the  mind  incidents  and  scenes  already  experienced.     Evi- 
dently this  degree  of  imagination  (if  imagination  indeed 
it  be)  is  not  much  better  than  good  memory.     It  is  re- 
productive imagination,  or  imaginative  memory. 

14.  The  second  degree  of  imagination  does  more  than 
merely  reproduce  a  sort  of  combined  memory-picture  of 
past  experiences.     Drawing  on  memory — as  all  imagina- 
tion must — it  nevertheless  selects,  rejects,  recombines,  and 
remodels  until  the  body  of  facts  that  it  produces  is  a  new 
one.     From  past  experiences,  it  rebuilds  a  new  structure, 
using  the  old  materials  as  a  skilled  builder  might,  who, 
selecting  choice  materials  from  many  old  buildings,  put 
up  a  new  edifice  perhaps  surpassing  any  of  the  old.     This 
selective  and  constructive  degree  of  imagination  we  term 
constructive  imagination. 

15.  Yet,    superior   as   constructive   imagination   is   to 
mere  imaginative  memory,  it  is  nevertheless  inferior  to 
imagination  of  the  third  degree.    Imagination  of  the  third 
degree  works  as  does  constructive  imagination,  and  it  uses 
past  experience.    But  it  has  a  greater  power  than  has  con- 
structive imagination — a  power  resulting  from  deeper  in- 
sight, stronger  sympathies,  more  catholic  taste,  keener  and 
wider  observation,  stronger  intelligence,  stronger  emotions, 
and  whatever  else  contributes  to  artistic  genius.     Hence 
its  material  is  not  old  material  reworked,  "but  rather  new 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  7 

material,  originally  discovered  and  got  out  by  the  writer 
through  his  deeper  insight  and  understanding,  and  handled 
in  a  way  original  with  and  possible  to  him  alone. 

16.  The  consequence  is,  that  what  it  produces  is  not 
merely  something  put  together,  but  something  created — 
something  we  are  likely  to  call  real,  with  the  feeling  that  it 
springs  direct  from  nature — something  convincing,  true- 
seeming,  alive,  capable  of  making  one  feel  it  as  if  it  were  an 
actual,  a  primal  fact,  not  merely  an  output  of  the  mind. 
Such  products  of  the  imagination  of  genius  are  creations,1 
not  constructions.    This  highest  degree  or  power  of  imagi- 
nation we  call  creative  imagination;  and  when  it  bodies 
forth  a  series  of  fact  for  us,  we  feel  as  if  we  stood  in  the 
presence  of  the  truth  of  human  life  itself. 

17.  But  no  matter  what  be  the  degree  of  imagination 
possessed  by  the  fiction-writer,  the  object  of  fiction  is  al- 
ways the  same:  to  body  forth  concretely  in  imagined 
some  truth  or  truths  of  human  life.     This  does  not  mean 
that  fiction  ought  always  to  be  heavy  or  even  serious.    Few 
things  could  be  worse  for  the  beginner  than  to  think  so. 
Indeed,    the   quality   of   the   writer's    imagination   will, 
if  high,  make  his  treatment  even  of  trivial  themes  creative 
(consider  many  fairy  stories)  ;  and  on  the  other  hand,  a 
lack  of  creative  power  will  result  in  dead  writing,  no  mat- 
ter how  serious  and  high  the  theme.     While  realizing, 
therefore,  that  fiction  aims  to  body  forth  some  truth  of 
human  life,  the  young  writer  should  at  the  same  time 
realize  that  this  aim  will  be  attained  by  him  only  after  he 
has  mastered  the  art  and  methods  of  fiction.    Nor  will  it 

1  Dickens  created  Sam  Weller ;  Thackeray  created  Becky  Sharp  and 
Colonel  Newcome;  Shakspere  created  the  scenes  of  Ophelia's  madness 
and  Lear's  passion;  Mark  Twain  created  Tom  Sawyer. 


8  SHOET  STOEIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

be  attained  even  then  unless  he  knows  also  the  human 
heart  and  human  life.  He  will  best  serve  his  ambition  by 
developing  his  intellectual  and  spiritual  gifts,  by  studying 
men  and  man,  and  by  mastering  his  craft- — by  learning  to 
see  facts,  to  understand  people,  and  to  tell  a  story  well. 

II.    THE  SHOET  STORY,  OE  CONTE,  is  A  TYPE  IN  ITSELF 

1.  By  "  short  story  "  we  do  not  nowadays  mean  any 
short  piece  of  narrative  fiction.     The  term  has  come  to 
mean  a  particular  kind  of  writing,  having  its  own  charac- 
teristics.    Loosely,  we  speak  of  all  the  shorter  pieces  of 
fiction  appearing  in  the  magazines  or  in  books  as  short 
stories.     But  in  fact  a  large  number  of  such  writings  be- 
long to  some  other  class.    They  may  be  character  sketches, 
tales,  scenarios  or  outlines,  novelets,  anecdotes,  episodes, 
incidents,  or  what  not;  but  many  of  them  are  in  no  strict 
sense  contes. 

2.  All  these  types  of  fiction  are  closely  related  in  some 
way  to  the  short  story  (conte)  ;  but  they  are  not  identical 
with  it.    They  are  worth  writing ;  they  call  for  skill ;  they 
have  their  own  place  in  fiction ;  practice  in  them  aids  one 
in  writing  the  conte.     But  they  lack,  one  and  all,  some- 
thing that  the  conte  has,  and  consequently  some  of  them 
are,  and  any  of  them  may  be,  inferior  to  it  both  in  final 
effectiveness  and  in  artistic  quality.    The  conte — although 
perhaps  it  can  never,  being  short,  be  absolutely  as  great 
as  a  great  novel — -at  its  best  is  at  the  present  time  the 
most  finished,  artistic,  and  closely  wrought  form  of  narra- 
tive fiction.     It  manifests  a  higher  art  and  perfection  of 
technique  than  the  novel  has  attained,  and  it  equals  the 
best  drama  in  constructional  excellence. 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  9 

3.  Although  the  student  cannot,  before  he  has  mastered 
the  definition  of  the  short  story  given  in  section  III,  com- 
pletely grasp  the  differences  between  this  form  and  other 
types,  these  differences  are  here  enumerated.  They  should 
be  reviewed  and  studied  by  the  student  after  he  has  learned 
what  the  conte  is. 

(a)  Character  or  other  sketch. — Lacks  dramatic  plot; 
lacks  dramatic  action ;  may  be  descriptive,  not  narrative. 
When  having  dramatic  plot  and  dramatic  action,  thor- 
oughly unified  to  produce  a  single  predominant  effect,  it 
becomes  a  conte. 

(b)  Tale. — Lacks  dramatic  plot;  may  lack  dramatic 
action;  may  leave  the  reader  with  several  distinct  and 
equally  strong  impressions,  instead  of  the  one  impression 
that  is  the  final  result  of  the  short  story.    Like  the  charac- 
ter sketch,  passes  over  into  the  conte  if  given  dramatic 
plot  and  action  producing  a  single  predominant  impres- 
sion. 

(c)  Scenario   or  outline. — The  scenario  is  merely  a 
skeletonized  outline  of  the  action,  plot,  scenery,  etc.,  of  a 
play,  a  story,  or  a  moving  picture  film.    It  gives  the  sub- 
stance merely,  not  the  effect,  and  it  may  be  concerned 
with  any  form  of  drama  or  narrative.     Further,  it  may 
be  so  condensed  that  it  is  nothing  more  than  a  catalogue  of 
essential    personages,    action,    setting,    and    "  business." 
(When  it  outlines  merely  plot  and  action,  it  is  technically 
known  as  action-plot  rather  than  as  scenario.) 

(d)  Novelet. — Merely  a  short  novel ;   subject  to  the 
same  looseness  of  structure,  content,  method,  and  treatment 
as  the  novel  may  and  frequently  does  show  (no  similar 
looseness  is  permissible  in  the  conte) . 

(e)  Anecdote,  episode,  incident. — Usually  very  brief, 


10  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

and  therefore  do  not  permit  development  of  dramatic  plot ; 
often  involve  no  more  than  a  single  isolated  act  or  speech ; 
do  not  necessarily  aim  at  single  effect,  although  on  account 
of  their  brevity  they  frequently  produce  it ;  and  frequently 
do  not  aim  at  dramatic  effect. 

(f)  Allegory,  fable. — From  the  narrative  viewpoint 
the  fable  is  little  more  than  an  anecdote,  episode,  or  inci- 
dent, except  that  it  frequently  makes  not  men,  but  beasts, 
its  persons.  Allegory  is  a  method  of  symbolic  presentation, 
not  a  type  of  narrative.  Therefore  it  should  not  be  com- 
pared with  or  contrasted  to  the  conte.  The  conte  may  be 
allegorical ;  an  allegory  may  be  given  the  form  of  a  conte. 

III.    THE  CONTE  is  A  DRAMA  IN  NARRATIVE 

1.  The  short    story   is    a   drama   in   narrative   form. 
"  Drama  "  is  here  used  in  a  strict  sense  to  mean  a  play, 
the  plot  of  which  is  closely  wrought.     By  "  plot "  we 
commonly  mean  a  series  of  acts,  events,  or  incidents  that 
runs  through  a  play  or  a  story,  giving  it  framework  and 
carrying  it  on  to  its  end.    Plots  may  be  loose,  or  they  may 
be  close-wrought;  and  the  close-wrought  plot  may  further 
be  dramatic. 

2.  The  loose  plot  is  nothing  more  than  a  chance  succes- 
sion of  incidents,  without  necessary  relation  to  one  another 
or  to  the  outcome  of  the  story.     If  I  say,  "  I  have  had  a 
day  of  disappointments,"  and  outline  it  thus:     Burned 
toast  at  breakfast  ;  missed  my  usual  train  to  the  city ;  lost 
a  good  customer;  crushed  my  straw  hat  against  a  low 
beam;  and  found  I  had  no  cigars  at  home  for  an  after- 
supper  smoke — I  outline  a  loose  plot.     The  series  of  inci- 
dents is  wholly  chance  and  accidental.    Moreover,  there  is 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  11 

no  final,  climactic  act  or  situation  to  which  all  these  prece- 
dent incidents  have  led  up  and  which  they  make  the  natural 
or  inevitable  outcome. 

3.  Now  let  us  turn  this  loose  plot  into  a  more  closely- 
wrought  plot;  we  accomplish  this  by  introducing  the  re- 
lations of  cause  and  effect.     Waiting  for  new  toast  at 
breakfast  causes  me  to  miss  my  train;  missing  my  train, 
I  reach  my  office  so  late  that  my  customer,  disgusted,  has 
gone,   leaving  word  that  he  withdraws   his  trade;   this 
worries  me  all  day,  and  so  takes  up  my  mind  on  the  way 
home  that  I  do  not  notice  the  beam  against  which  I  smash 
my  hat ;  and  stopping  to  get  a  new  hat  causes  me  to  forget 
to  buy  cigars  to  take  home;  hence  after  supper  I  miss  my 
accustomed  smoke. 

4.  Evidently  our  plot  has  become  more  close-wrought, 
because  each  incident  in  the  series  leads  up  to  and  is  the 
cause  of  the  next.     But  even  yet  these  incidents  do  not 
interweave  and  interlock ;  they  merely  follow  each  other  as 
single  causes  and  effects,  not  as  an  interacting  body  of 
cause  and  effect.     Moreover,  the  story  is  still  without  a 
climax ;  it  is  a  succession,  but  not  a  progression  and  ascent 
to  a  conclusive  outcome.    If  the  plot  is  to  be  close-wrought 
to  the  full,  something  must  happen  at  the  end  that  is  more 
important  and  more  impressive  than  anything  that  has 
gone  before  (or  at  least  fully  as  impressive  and  important), 
and  this  something  must  be  the  direct  and  combined  out- 
come of  all  the  incidents  together  that  have  gone  before, 
not  merely  the  last  event  of  a  string  of  events,  each  of 
which  is  merely  the  cause  of  the  next  one  in  the  chain. 

5.  Let   us   therefore  make  our  plot   still   more   close- 
wrought,  and  thus  bring  about  this  final  achievement  of 
artistic  plotting.     We  will  start  again.     Let  us  assume 


12  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

that  we  mean  to  show  through  our  story  how  ordinary, 
everyday  events  may  create  a  tragic  situation.  The  final 
event,  or  scene,  will  be  the  combined  result  of  all  the 
others  taken  together,  and  will  be  that  in  which  the  tragic 
situation  is  completely  revealed. 

6.  Now  for  simplicity  we  will  omit  the  incident  of  the 
cigars;  and  to  prepare  for  the  final  situation,  we  will  as- 
sume at  the  outset  that  I  have  been  guilty  of  a  murder, 
but  have  escaped  capture  and  established  myself  prosper- 
ously in  a  respected  business  in  this  distant  city.     I  am 
an  irritable,  quick-tempered  man.     The  burned  toast,  the 
missed  train,  and  the  lost  customer  gradually  rouse  my 
anger.     It  is  on  the  point  of  boiling  over  already;  and 
when  I  strike  the  beam  and  crush  my  hat,  it  gets  beyond 
control.      I  break   into  profanity.      When    a   policeman 
cautions  me,  I  swear  at  him.    He  arrests  me.    I  am  taken 
to  the  station — and  recognized.     As  I  am  led  away  to 
prison,  I  realize  that  I  am  going  to  the  scaffold. 

7.  Step  by  step  our  plot  has  led  forward,  simply  and 
naturally,  to  a  point  of  crisis  when,  standing  in  the  police 
station,  I  am  recognized  and  realize  my  ruin.    Incident  has 
interlocked  with  incident,  my  character  has  affected  my 
acts  and  my  acts  have  reacted  on  events,  until  all  together 
have  produced  a  culminating  situation  that  suddenly  is 
perceived  to  be  tragic.    Not  only  do  the  incidents  consti- 
tute a  progression;  they  constitute  an  interwoven  body  of 
influences  so  closely  related,  every  one  with  the  others,  that 
each  is  felt  to  have  a  part  in  the  final  outcome — to  be  a 
part  of  the  total  motivation  and  result.     Here  manifestly 
we  have  a  plot  that  can  fairly  be  called  close-wrought. 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  13 

IV.    THE  PLOT  OF  THE  CONTE  MUST  BE  DRAMATIC 

1.  Now  we  come  to  the  plot  which  is  dramatic.    A  dra- 
matic plot  is  always  a  close-wrought  plot ;  it  can  never  be 
(in  the  strictest  sense)  a  loose  plot.    But  it  not  only  is  a 
close-wrought  plot ;  it  also  is  a  close-wrought  plot  that  de- 
pends upon  and  grows  out  of  the  traits  of  character  of  the 
persons  involved  In  it,  and  in  turn  produces  some  after- 
effect in  or  upon  these  persons.    What  this  means,  a  few 
illustrations  may  make  clear. 

2.  Assume  yet  again  that  the  appearance  of  burned 
toast  is  an  incident  of  the  plot.    In  dramatic  plot,  this  in- 
cident must  in  some  way  grow  out  of  something  in  my  own 
character,  and  must  also  in  some  manifest  way  affect  me  or 
my  future — either  establish  my  course  in  life  more  firmly, 
or  change  it,  or  confirm  or  alter  my  character,  or  leave  me 
in  some  pleasant  or  unpleasant  situation,  or  influence  my 
fortunes  for  good  or  ill — in  short,  in  some  way  make  itself 
felt  as  a  determining  element  in  my  existence.2 

3.  Now,  how  may  the  incident  of  the  burned  toast  grow 
out  of  some  trait  of  character  in  me?     Suppose  me  to  be 
a  domineering  sort  of  man,  given  to  enforcing  services 
from  others  regardless  of  circumstances.     It  is  my  way 
to  demand  help  of  the  cook  without  considering  her  con- 
venience ;  and  I  have  shouted  to  her  this  morning  for  shav- 
ing water,  then  for  clean  towels,  then  for  the  shoe-brush. 
Knowing  my  disposition,  she  has  hurried  to  wait  on  me, 
leaving  the  breakfast  to  its  fate.    Hence  the  charred  toast. 

2  The  student  is  cautioned  that  this  influence  need  not  be  felt  in 
a  serious  direction.  It  may  result  in  nothing  more  than  making 
me  ridiculous  for  the  moment.  Thus,  in  a  humorous  story,  the 
mock-hero  is  made  laughable. 


14  SHOKT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

The  burning  of  the  toast  is  therefore  the  result  in  fact  of 
this  imperious  element  in  my  character;3  and  to  this  ex- 
tent the  incident  may  be  regarded  as  constituting  part  of  a 
dramatic  plot. 

4.  But  the  incident  must  not  only  spring  from  some  ele- 
ment of  character  in  me;  it  also  must  have  some  effect  upon 
me,  my  character,  or  my  after  life.    Again  let  us  assume 
that  I  am  ill-tempered.    We  will  also  assume  that  my  wife 
and  I  have  quarreled  frequently,  the  consequence  being 
that  we  are  almost  at  the  point  of  separation.     The  black- 
ened toast  stirs  my  black  temper;  I  fling  some  insult  at 
her ;  and  because  of  it  she  refuses  longer  to  live  with  me. 
Plainly  my  future  will  be  different  as  a  result  of  this  in- 
cident.    It  may  indeed  be  different  in  various  ways  or  to 
various  degrees.    My  wife  may  have  been  my  good  angel, 
and  lacking  her  influence,  I  go  to  the  dogs  (character  de- 
velopment).    Or  it  may  be  that,  deeply  loving  my  wife,  I 
am  horrified  at  my  own  behavior,  and  thereafter  live  a 
different  life,  conquering  my  temper  and  transforming  my 
ill  disposition  (another  instance  of  character  development). 
Or  again  (a  weaker  outcome),  my  wife  may  have  been 
my  banker ;  so  that  withdrawal  of  her  money  deprives  me 
of  the  capital  necessary  to  carry  through  my  industrial 
plans,  and  I  go  to  pieces  upon  financial  reefs. 

5.  If  in  any  manner  the  incidents,  growing  out  of  some 
trait  of  character  in  me  or  in  other  persons  of  the  story, 
thus  affect  me  or  the  other  persons,  our  future  life  or  char- 
acter, they  make  the  plot  which  they  constitute  a  dramatic 
plot — one  in  which  character  shapes  event  and  incident, 

9  Let  the  student  observe  that,  by  shifting  the  character  emphasis, 
he  can  make  the  burning  of  the  toast  result  from  the  weak  or 
subservient  character  of  the  cook. 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  15 

and  event  and  incident  react  on  person,   character,   or 
life. 

6.  What  we  have  just  been  considering  is  known  tech- 
nically as  motivation — making  every  act  or  result  spring 
from  a  clearly  perceivable  and  adequate  cause  in  the  nature 
of  the  person  and  the  situation,  and  making  every  cause 
produce  a  logical  consequence  affecting  the  person,  char- 
acter, or  situation.  A  dramatic  plot,  therefore,  may  be 
described  as  one  that  is  adequately  motivated  throughout — 
it  being  always  understood  that  character  enters  into  mo- 
tive. We  must  not  suppose,  however,  that  the  incidents  or 
outcome  of  a  dramatic  plot  must  always  be  serious.  Both 
may,  on  the  contrary,  be  light,  even  within  bounds  frivo- 
lous ;  and  a  plot  can  be  farcical  and  burlesque,  yet  observe 
this  principle  of  dramatic  motiving,  or  motivation. 

V.    THE  SHORT  STORY  REQUIRES  PERSONS  IN  ACTION 
IN  A  TIME  OF  CRISIS 

1.  Our  understanding  of  the  essential  nature  of  the 
conte  may  be  made  clearer  by  stating  the  requirements  of 
this  form  of  fiction  anew.  The  essence  of  the  short  story 
is  this :  persons  in  conclusive  action,  each  according  to  his 
own  character,  in  a  time  of  crisis.  To  understand  this 
crisis,  we  must  perceive  that  it  has  grown  out  of  incidents 
which  these  persons,  each  according  to  his  own  character, 
have  helped  to  make,  and  that  it  will  inevitably  affect  the 
present  or  the  future  of  one  or  more  of  these  same  per- 


4  Stories  occasionally  appear  in  which  the  dominant  character 
is  that  of  some  one  not  introduced  at  all  as  a  person  acting  in 
the  story.  For  practical  purposes,  however,  we  may  regard  this, 
person  as  one  of  the  persons  of  the  story, 


16  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

2.  For  the  moment,  let  us  regard  the  idea  of  crisis  as 
most  important  in  this  description,  or  definition.    By  this 
time  we  must  have  realized  that,  rightly  understood  plot 
before  everything  else  is  the  essential  element  of  the  short 
story  (conte).    The  consequence  of  this  importance  is,  that 
the  construction  of  the  plot  demands  exceedingly  careful 
procedure.     Our  plot  must  not  only  be  close-wrought,  it 
must  be  close-wrought  according  to  the  strict  dramatic  re- 
quirements of  motivation;  and  we  are  now  to  see  further, 
that  this  dramatic  plot  must  virtually  consist,  not  so  much 
of  a  long  series  of  incidents  terminating  in  a  climactic 
scene,  incident,  or  situation,  as  of  this  climactic  scene,  inci- 
dent, or  situation  itself,  with  the  preliminary  incidents  and 
complications  of  which  it  is  the  culmination,  subordinated 
to  it,  or  even  suppressed  when  suppression  be  possible  with- 
out rendering  the  climactic  situation  obscure  or  lessening 
the  total  impressiveness  of  the  story.     For  the  conte  is , 
written  to  show  forth  character  in  conclusive  action  at  some 
moment  or  in  some  period  of  crisis. 

3.  Hence  the  plot  of  the  conte  always  tends  to  cover: 

(a)  So  much  preliminary  incident  as — and  no  more 
than — may  be  necessary  to  make  clear  the  essential  aspects 
of  the  crisis  with  which  it  deals;  and  then — 

(b)  The  situation,  incident,  character-play,  or  action 
that  creates  and  constitutes  the  crisis.    This  situation,  in- 
cident,  character-play,  or  action  it  develops  particularly, 
carrying  it  through  a  climax 5  to  its  logical  conclusion.* 

•  See  Sec.  XV.,  on  the  Rising  Action  stage  of  the  plot,  and  especially 
the  paragraphs  concerning  decisive  moment  and  climactic  moment. 

6  The  conclusion  must  be  merely  logical,'  it  need  not  be  (as  some 
say  it  must)  inevitable  from  the  first.  It  becomes  inevitable  only 
at  the  decisive  moment. 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  IT 

4.  This  fact — that  the  characters  acting  dramatically 
to  a  logical  conclusion  in  a  crisis  are  the  main  object  of 
attention  in  the  conte — must  be  borne  constantly  in  mind. 
In  application,  the  principle  permits  a  wide  latitude ;  in 
the  hands  of  some  writers,  it  may  even  seem  to  be  disre- 
garded without  interfering  with  the  success  of  the  story; 
but  it  is  nevertheless  fundamental,  and  examination  will 
show  no  successful  story  in  which  it  has  not  been  respected. 
For  the  conte  exists  for  the  sake  of  an  effect  that  cannot 
be  produced  except  with  the  aid  of  conclusive  action  taking 
place  in  a  time  of  crisis;  whatever  does  not  help  to  cause 
this  action,  or  to  create  the  critical  situation  or  free  it  of 
obscurity,  has  no  place  in  the  plot  development;  7  and  mat- 
ters that  help  to  rid  the  situation  of  obscurity,  or  to  create 
the  crisis,  or  to  cause  the  action,  belong  in  the  plot,  but 
belong  there  only  in  so  far  as  they  do  actually  thus  con- 
tribute to  the  crisis. 

5.  Let  us  emphasize  the  fact  that  the  short  story  tends 
to  present  only  the  incidents  and  elements  of  the  crisis  at 
its  height,  subordinating  or  suppressing  all  unessential  pre- 
liminary matters.8     How  characteristic  this  method  is  of 
the  short  story  (conte) — as  it  is  in  fact  of  the  short  drama 
also — is  shown  by  the  assertion  of  excellent  critics  that 
the  true  short  story  is  produced  only  when  the  crisis  alone 

;  7  To  say  that  it  has  no  place  in  the  development  of  the  plot  is 
not  to  say  that  it  has  no  place  in  the  story.  It  may  have  uses 
as  an  aid  to  characterization,  theme  emphasis,  atmosphere  creation, 
etc.  So  used,  it  does,  however,  contribute  at  least  indirectly  to  the 
plot  development. 

8  The  student  is  cautioned  to  bear  in  mind  that  we  are  now 
speaking  of  action,  incident,  and  plot  only.  We  shall  see  later 
that  for  its  total  effect  a  story  may  require  the  introduction  of 
material  that  is  not  essential  to  the  plot  when  considered  by  itself. 


18  SHOET  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

is  presented.  Kightly  understood,  the  assertion  is  true; 
but  without  explanation  it  is  likely  to  mislead.  For  the 
term  "  crisis  "  is  ambiguous.  In  our  discussion  crisis  re- 
fers to  a  critical  situation  of  affairs  at  a  certain  time,  and 
this  time  may  "be  either  the  briefest  space  of  time  or  a  long 
period.  Sometimes,  it  is  true,  the  plot  permits  the  almost 
complete  suppression  of  preliminary  explanatory  incident ; 
it  is  merely  hinted  at — suggested  through  some  speech  or 
act  belonging  to  the  critical  situation  itself.  Moreover, 
this  suppression  is  characteristic  of  the  theoretically  ideal 
plot.  But  many  things  theoretically  ideal  are  not  practi- 
cally ideal,  and  the  preliminary  incident  may  be  so  in- 
wrought  with  the  crisis  that  it  will  demand  full  narration. 
Thus,  in  De  Maupassant's  The  Necklace  we  are  carried  by 
the  preliminary  plot-matter  through  a  period  of  ten  years, 
through  all  which  time  the  grand  climax,  the  height  of  the 
crisis,  is  preparing.  Moreover,  the  climactic  moment,  the 
height  of  the  crisis,  occupies  but  a  minute  or  so  of  time ;  it 
is  put  before  us  in  a  single  short  speech,  and  of  itself, 
without  the  preparation  given  by  the  preliminary  matter, 
it  would  be  forceless  and  artistically  unintelligible. 
Throughout  the  story,  the  persons  are  acting  in  a  time  of 
crisis;  the  critical  period,  in  truth,  extends  over  ten 
years ;  yet  De  Maupassant's  story  is  as  thoroughly  a  short 
story  as  any  wherein  all  preliminary  matter  is  suppressed 
and  the  climactic  moment  alone  presented.  A  study  of 
The  Necklace  will  make  this  plain.  (Incidentally,  too,  it 
will  show  the  student  that  in  stories  of  this  type  the  plot  is. 
likely  to  include  several  preliminary  or  preparatory  cli- 
mactic points,  each  bringing  nearer  the  grand  climax  or 
height  of  the  main  crisis.)^ 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  19 

VI.    SINGLENESS    OF    EFFECT    is    NECESSARY    TO    THE 
SHORT  STORY 

1.  The  artistic  success  of  a  conte,  like  that  of  the  one- 
act  play,  is  to  be  judged  by  the  singleness  of  the  effect 
or  impression  that  it  produces.     An  impression  so  strictly 
single  is  demanded  of  no  other  type  of  fiction  except  the 
play.     Few  novels  or  romances,  even  purpose  novels,  yet 
approach  the  conte  in  concentrated  singleness  of  effect ;  and 
in  some  respects  such  effectiveness  is  beyond  attainment 
by  the  longer  forms  of  fiction.     In  poetry,  only  the  lyric 
can  be  compared  with  the  conte  with  reference  to  concen- 
trated impression ;  for  the  purpose  of  the  lyric  is,  to  con- 
vey to  the  hearer  a  single  poignant  emotion.    The  tale  may 
produce  several  effects  and  still  not  fail  of  its  purpose; 
Rip  Van  Winkle,  for  instance,  at  one  point  leaves  the 
reader  impressed  with  Rip's  good-natured  vagabondage,  at 
another  with  the  mystery  of  his  adventure,  at  another  with 
the  pathos  of  his  return.     It  has  no  single  impression  on 
which  readers  would  at  once  agree.     But  the  true  short 
story  (conte)  must  produce  just  such  an  effect. 

2.  To  define  "  single  effect  "  is  less  easy  than  to  feel  the 
singleness  of  the  effect  when  it  is  present.  No  one  can  miss 
the  one  overwhelming  effect  in  the  situation  here  outlined : 

The  scene  is  laid  in  the  poorly-furnished  room  of  an 
employee  of  the  Paris  Electric  Light  Company.  In  one 
corner  is  a  little  bed,  on  which  the  child  of  the  workman 
and  his  patient  wife  lies  very  ill.  The  mother  tells  the 
father  that  the  doctor,  who  has  been  to  see  the  child  a  short 
while  before,  has  said  that  the  crisis  will  come  in  about 
three  days.- 


20  SHOKT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

The  man  tells  his  wife  that  he  ought  to  go  to  a  meeting 
of  the  labor  union  to  which  he  belongs,  as  important 
matters  are  to  be  decided ;  but  says  that  he  does  not  feel 
like  going  out,  because  of  their  baby's  condition.  His  wife, 
however,  urges  him  to  do  so.  "  Nothing  can  happen/' 
she  reassures  him,  "  because  the  doctor  said  three 
days." 

Meanwhile,  their  friend,  Mme.  Marchaud,  will  stay 
with  the  wife.  The  women  sit  and  talk.  Madame  tries 
to  pacify  the  wife's  wrought-up  feelings  by  telling  her  of 
the  sickness  of  her  own  youngsters. 

Suddenly  a  sound  is  heard  from  the  bed.  The  mother 
springs  up,  hurries  to  the  bed,  looks  at  her  baby,  and 
screams. 

The  baby  is  strangling. 

The  friend  rushes  for  the  doctor. 

"  May  I  ask  you  to  leave  the  room  ?  "  he  says  to  the 
mother.  "  You  will  only  suffer,  and  your  presence  will 
disturb  me.  There  is  no  reason  to  worry.  The  crisis  has 
simply  come  earlier  than  I  expected.  It  is  better  as  it  is. 
Just  a  slight  operation — I  give  you  my  word  of  honor  that 
all  will  be  well !  Go!" 

The  mother  leaves  the  room.  Reaching  for  the  single 
electric  light  that  illuminates  the  room,  the  doctor  moves 
it  next  to  the  bed  and,  taking  out  his  instruments,  begins 
hastily  to  sterilize  them,  Mme.  Marchaud  standing  by  his 
side  ready  to  help  him.  Quickly  he  bends  over  the  bed  and 
makes  an  incision.  Another.  Then  another. 

Suddenly — darkness ! 

The  lone  light  has  gone  out. 

"  Great  good  God !  "  he  shouts  wildly  to  the  woman. 
"  Why  did  you  turn  out  the  light  ?  " 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  21 

"  I  didn't  turn  it  out/'  comes  from  the  darkness. 

"  Then  quick,  quick !  "  literally  screams  the  man.  "  On 
with  it  again !  " 

A  pause. 

"  But  it  won't  light !  "  from  the  woman. 

In  the  black  room  the  doctor  pulls  at  the  switch;  but 
the  light  will  not  come.  The  mother  rushes  in. 

At  last — it  seems  hours — a  candle  is  found.  They  light 
it  with  quivering  fingers.  They  bend  over  the  bed. 

Too  late!    The  baby  is  dead. 

A  noise.  The  sound  of  marchers  is  heard  in  the  street 
below.  It  comes  nearer ;  it  grows  louder.  They  are  sing- 
ing the  Marseillaise. 

The  door  of  the  room  bursts  open  and  the  husband,  his 
face  aflush  with  triumph,  stands  in  the  entrance. 

"  Victory !  "  he  cries.  "  Victory !  We've  won ! 
There's  not  an  electric  light  burning  in  all  Paris  to- 
night!"9 

3.  We  feel  this  effect,  but  what  is  it?  It  is  just  one 
thing — the  shock  of  horrified  sympathy  for  the  man  who, 
through  the  very  victory  over  which  he  is  triumphing, 
finds  himself  the  means  of  his  child's  death.  And  here  we 
have  a  good  practical  test  for  singleness  of  impression.  It 
is  this.  A  single  effect  is  susceptible  of  statement  in  a 
single  sentence,  not  unreasonably  long,  which  itself  fulfills 
the  requirements  of  rhetorical  unity.  To  state  it  still  more 
simply :  A  sentence  is  the  expression  of  a  single,  complete 
thought.  If  the  effect  of  the  story  can  be  summarized  in 
such  a  sentence,  it  may  fairly  be  regarded  as  unified.  We 

9  From  "Trained  Nurses  of  the  Thrill"  (George  Jean  Nathan), 
Associated  Sunday  Magazine,  May  25,  1913.  By  permission. 


22  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

may  further  test  the  effect  by  condensing  the  plot  into  a 
sentence  in  the  same  way.  If  the  plot  can  be  stated  in  a 
single  unified  sentence,  then  the  story,  if  well  constructed, 
should  itself  be  unified  and  result  in  a  single  effect. 

4.  While  speaking  of  singleness  of  effect,  we  should 
consider  the  word  "  short  "  in  the  term  "  short    story." 
Why  short?     Many  contes  contain  only  1,000,  1,500,  or 
2,000  words   (the  shorter  stories  often  lack  in  literary 
quality).    But,  on  the  other  hand,  stories  as  long  as  8,000 
and  10,000  words,  and  even  more,  are  accepted  by  some 
editors.     Indeed,  fiction  running  to  40,000  words  or  more 
(10,000  or  15,000  words  longer  than  some  novelets,  and 
only  20,000  words  under  the  length  of  writings  sometimes 
classified  as  novel)  is  properly  deemed  short  story,  pro- 
vided that  it  otherwise  meets  the  requirements  imposed  on 
this  form  of  writing. 

5.  The  fact  is,  that  the  conte  does  not  have  to  be  notably 
short.     Usually  it  is  short,  however,  because  it  seeks  the 
singleness  of  effect  described  above.     Comparison  with  the 
drama  is  here  useful  again.     We  have  already  seen  that 
the  short  story  and  the  one-act  play  are  especially  near 
akin.    We  know,  too,  that  even  the  most  intense  and  closely- 
wrought  drama  is  hard  to  watch  for   three  hours;   the 
tendency  is,  to  keep  the  time  down  to  two  hours  or  there- 
about, because  a  longer  time  is  likely  to  dull  the  spectators' 
impression.     The  play  is  planned  to  make  its  impression 
within  the  time  for  which  the  close  attention  of  the  specta- 
tors  can   be   held.      The   one-act   play   ordinarily   takes 
still  less  time  than  does  the  two-  or  three-act  play,  and 
it  is  found  to  produce  a  correspondingly  more   unified 
impression    (not    invariably    a    deeper   impression,   how- 
ever) . 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  23 

6.  In  this  fact  we  have  also  the  reason  for  the  shortness 
of  the  short  story.     It  is  planned  to  be  "  taken  in  "  at  a 
single  sitting — to  be  read  through  without  interruption; 
to  be  grasped,  understood,  and  felt  as  a  whole.     If  the 
reading  of  it  be  interrupted,  the  impression,  the  "  spell  "  of 
the  narrative,  is  broken.    The  powerful  effect  of  the  conte 
depends  in  no  small  degree  upon  this  fact :  the  narrative  is 
not  too  long  to  be  completed  in  one  absorbed  reading. 

7.  The  wide  range  between  the  longest  and  the  shortest 
contes  commonly  accepted  by  editors — from  800  words  to 
8,000,  10,000,  and  occasionally  15,000 — is  to  be  accounted 
for  by  two  things.    First,  many  readers  are  not  capable  of 
concentrated  attention  and  continued  understanding  beyond 
a  few  hundred  words ;  a  story  of  5,000  or  8,000  words  is 
beyond  their  powers.     Second,  the  adequate  development 
of  some  plots,  or  the  adequate  presentation  of  the  full 
story  material,   requires   in  some   instances   only   1,500, 
2,000,  or  2,500  words;  in  others,  adequate  presentation 
demands  eight  or  ten  times  as  many.     The  student  should 
not  be  misled  by  any  insistence  upon  the  need  of  com- 
pression in  the  short  story  (and  compression  is  needed) 
into    thinking    that    absolute    brevity,    too,    is    essential. 
Adequate  presentation  is  essential;  brevity  is  not,  provided 
that  singleness  of  effect  is  preserved.    And  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  an  educated  reader  can  read  a  close-wrought  story  of 
40,000  or  50,000  words  at  a  sitting,  and  get  from  it  its 
single  dominant  impression.    But  few  single  critical  situa- 
tions involve  an  amount  of  essential  facts  so  great  as  this 
for  their  adequate  understanding  and  conclusion,  or  call 
for  such  amplified  development  as  a  means  of  producing 
their  effect. 


24  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

VII.    THE  CONTE  MAY  AIM  AT  DIFFERENT  KINDS  OF 

EFFECT 

1.  We  have  been  insisting  strongly  upon  the  supreme 
importance  of  the  plot.     Lest  that  insistence  result  in  a 
serious  misapprehension,  we  must  now  insist  also  on  a 
vital  distinction.     Plot  is  of  supreme  importance  to  the 
STRUCTURE  AND  OUTCOME  of  the  story ,  but  the  plot  may  be 
of  minor  importance  in  producing  the  EFFECT  of  the  story. 

2.  We  will  examine  this  assertion  more  closely.     It 
depends  on  this  fact:  the  conte  involves  two  chief  factors 
toward  final  effectiveness — an  outcome  and  an  impression. 
The  outcome  belongs  to  plot  only;  the  impression  is  the 
result  of  plot  combined  with  various  other  elements,  and 
these  other  elements  may  in  their  importance  as  IMPRES- 
SION-PRODUCERS quite  overshadow  plot.    Let  us  make  this 
still  clearer  by  restating  once  more. 

3.  The  plot  is  the  logical  summary  of  that  body  of 
incident    and    event   which   creates    and    constitutes    the 
dramatic  crisis.     The  essence  of  the  short  story  is  people 
acting  dramatically  in  a  time  of  crisis.     In  order  to  pro- 
duce a  single  crisis  that  shall  be  single  and  unified  in 
effect,  the  plot  must  be  close-wrought,  single,  and  unified. 
But  this  crisis  does  not  have  to  be  itself  the  most  im- 
portant thing  in  the  story.     It  may  exist  either  for  its 
own  sake,  or  merely  for  the  sake  of  affording  effective 
presentation  of  other  impression-producing  elements.    But 
however  this  be,  we  shall  ultimately  perceive  that  underly- 
ing this  total  effect  of  the  story,  the  most  important  ele- 
ment contributing  to  the  outcome  through  which  the  effect 
must  at  least  in  part   always  be  reached, — are  persons 
acting,  each  according  to  his  character,  in  a  crisis  brought 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  25 

about  by  a  dramatic  plot.  Without  persons,  and  without 
certain  things  done  by  these  persons  in  the  course  of  a 
crisis,  there  can  be  no  outcome  of  the  dramatic  sort — and 
therefore  no  short  story  (conte). 

4.  Now  these  persons,  doing  what  they  thus  do  in  the 
surroundings  and  under  the  conditions  determined  by  the 
dramatic  crisis,  may,  according  to  the  management  of  the 
story,  thus  produce  in  us  any  one  of  four  predominant 
impressions;  namely — 

(a)  Impress  us  with  a  theme  (thematic  story)  ; 

(b)  Impress  us  with  the  qualities  of  their  own  charac- 
ter (character  story)  ; 

(c)  Impress  us  mainly  with  the  incident  and  action 
of  the  plot  (plot  story)  ;  or 

(d)  Impress  us  most  distinctly  with  a  feeling ;  perhaps 
merely  of  the   conditions   and   environment  surrounding 
them,  and  of  which  they  are  a  part,  during  the  time  in 
which  they  are  in  action,  and  perhaps  of  a  deeper  emo- 
tional or  spiritual  quality  (subjective  coloring)  belonging 
to  them  and  their  deeds  (atmosphere  story). 

5.  We   see,    then,    that    the    materials    and    essential 
elements  of  a  story,  gathering  round  and  depending  on 
the  persons-in-action  and  governed  by  the  plot,  can  be 
so  managed  as  to  produce  stories  of  different  classes ;  and 
these    classes    can    be    discriminated    one    from    another 
according  to  a  clear,  logical  principle.     Neither  plot,  nor 
substance  or  subject-matter,  affords  such  a  principle.    Plot 
especially  does  not,  for  plot  is  essential  in  every  conte. 
But  in  the  effect  produced  by  the  different  possible  ways 
of  managing  the  materials  and  elements   (including  the 
persons-in-action)  which  are  found  in  the  short  story,  we 
have  a  safe  classification  by  which  to  distribute  contes  into 


26  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

groups.  According  to  this  principle,  every  short  story  will 
fall  into  one  or  another  of  four  classes,  as  the  emphasis 
may  be  placed  on  one  or  another  of  its  four  elements; 
namely,  (1)  theme;  (2)  character;  (3)  plot,  incident,  and 
action;  (4)  atmosphere  (total  conditions  and  environ- 
ment; subjective  coloring). 

VIII.    SOME   SHORT    STORIES   EMPHASIZE   THEME 

1.  The  conte  that  emphasizes  theme  is  either  among 
the  easiest  to  write,  or  among  the  hardest.     If  it  attempt 
nothing  more  than  to  present  a  "  moral  " — that  is,  if  it  is 
nothing  more  than  a  piece  of  didactic  writing  in  narrative 
form — it  is  comparatively  easy  of  composition ;  it  has  only 
to  announce  its  theme,  or  moral,  group  a  set  of  incidents 
together   that  make   the  moral   idea,    or   lesson,    that    it 
presents  obvious  to  the  reader,  and  so  end.     But  the  short 
story  that   does   not   aim   at  bald   didacticism    is    a   far 
different  and  more  difficult  achievement. 

2.  The  baldly  didactic  narrative  scarcely  deserves  the 
name  story,  for  in  desire  to  make  its  moral  obvious,  it  is 
ready  to  sacrifice  all  the  literary  qualities.     It  amounts 
to  little  more  than  argumentation  masquerading  as  narra- 
tion.    But  the  literary  story  that   concerns   itself  with 
the  effective  presentation  of  a  theme  is,  on  the  other  hand, 
thoroughly  artistic.      It   strives   for  impression,   not   for 
conviction    or    conversion.      Therefore    it    is    careful    to 
characterize,  to  find  adequate  motiving  and  true-seeming 
incident  for  its  plot,  and  to  create  a  setting  and  environ- 
ment equal  to  their  task  of  giving  atmosphere. 

3.  Thus  to  work  into  a  consistent  artistic  whole  signifi- 
cant traits  of  character;  true  human  motives  resulting 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  27 

in  convincing  acts  that  illustrate  and  develop  the  theme; 
and  a  coherent  body  of  incident  that  likewise  demonstrates 
a  central  thought; — and  withal  to  keep  this  central  theme 
itself  clear,  prominent,  and  dominant — this  demands  great 
power  of  imaginative  conception  and  high  skill  in  literary 
construction.  We  will  therefore  drop  out  of  consideration 
the  merely  didactic  narrative  and,  in  further  mention  of 
the  thematic  story,  understand  that  it  is  the  true  short 
story  emphasizing  theme  to  which  we  refer. 

4.  The  thematic  conte,  so  limited,  may  be  either  a  pur- 
pose or  a  problem  story,  or  a  pure-theme  story  (see  par. 
13).     The  PURPOSE  story  is  the  literary  parallel  of  the  un- 
literary  didactic  narrative.     It  differs  from  the  didactic 
narrative  by  giving  adequate  attention  to  those  elements  of 
fictional  material  which  we  found  the  didactic  narrative 
neglecting:  character,  atmosphere,  and  well-motived  plot. 
It  establishes  its  theme  by  means  of  an  impression  depend- 
ing upon  artistic  method.    Character,  plot,  incident,  and  at- 
mosphere are  used  to  emphasize  the  theme,  and  the  theme 
is  emphasized  in  order  that  the  reader  may  be  persuaded 
to  espouse  some  theory  or  belief.     The  purpose  story  aims 
at  conversion,  it  is  true ;  but  it  aims  at  conversion  through 
artistic  effect. 

5.  We  must  observe  here  that  excellent  authorities  main- 
tain the  impossibility  of  an  effective  purpose  short  story. 
They  urge  that  conversion  cannot  be  the  aim  of  the  conte ; 
that  the  presentation  of  arguments  is  not  consistent  with  lit- 
erary effect ;  that  short  stories  do  not  afford  scope  or  room 
for  marshaling  facts  and  debating  a  proposition ;  and  that 
any  theme  about  which  there  is  a  division  of  opinion  is 
unsuited  to  the  short  story,  because  the  short  story  must 
immediately  appeal  to  each  of  its  many  classes  of  readers. 


28  SHOKT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

6.  Now  it  is  true  that  no  great  number  of  true  contes 
aim  at  convincing  or  converting  the  reader,  and  that  those 
which  have  this  aim  often  fail  in  it.     But  one  reason  for 
these  facts  is,  the  difficulty  of  constructing  an  artistic 
purpose  story — one  that  does  not  drop  into  the  merely 
didactic  class;  and  perhaps  another  is,  the  feeling  which 
writers  have — brought  about  b$  commercial  necessity — 
that  stories  seriously  attacking  a  disputed  theme  will  have 
less  chance  of  a  market  with  editors.     That  such  stories 
will  sell  less  readily  is  true,  not  because  the  conte  cannot 
be  a  purpose  story,  but  because  editors  are  fearful  of 
offending  readers  who  may   not   agree  with  the   theme 
advanced,  and  of  wearying  that  not  inconsiderable  class 
whose  mental  energies  faint  in  presence  of  any  effort 
greater  than  that  necessary  to  wrestle  with  the  impressive 
moral  truth  of  "  See  the  man !  "  and  "  This  is  a  cat." 

7.  But  inherent  reason  there  is  none  why  a  narrative 
built  upon  a  dramatic  plot  and  producing  a  single  effect 
should  not  aim,  through  this  effect,  to  persuade  or  convert 
the  reader  to  a  definite  theory  or  belief.     That  such  short 
fiction  is  influential  is  indicated  by  the  little  whirlwinds 
of  discussion  that  occasionally  arise  over  stories  thus  ad- 
vocating a  cause  by  embodying  its  appeal  in  the  impres- 
sion   created    by    well-managed    narrative.      Only    the 
editors  who  get  the  letters  of  approval  and  protest  know 
how  impressive  such  an  appeal  may  be.10 

10  American  drama  has  in  recent  years  supplied  some  interesting 
examples  of  purpose  plays — naturally  analogous  to  purpose  short 
stories.  Study  of  The  Lure  and  The  Fight,  each  presented 
in  New  York  City  at  the  beginning  of  the  season  of  1913-14,  will 
be  suggestive.  So  will  consideration  of  their  fate,  illustrative  of 
the  grotesque  unwillingness  of  certain  classes  of  people  to  let  either 
drama  or  literature  offer  an  interpretation  of  life  by  presenting  it 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  29 

8.  We  are  therefore  compelled  to  conclude  that  the 
short  story  may  be  written  "  with  a  purpose/'  but  that 
the  artistic  success  of  the  story  so  written  will  depend 
mostly  upon  the  literary  gift  and  skill  of  the  author.  If 
he.  present  his  theme  artistically  embodied  in  concrete 
facts  that  are  truly  significant  of  human  nature  and  life, 
so  managed  that  they  produce  a  single,  dramatic  effect,  we 

as  different  from  what  it  conventionally  is  supposed  to  be.  The 
attacks  upon  these  plays  will  give  the  writer  an  idea  of  the  re- 
ception likely  to  be  met  at  any  time  by  problem  or  purpose  stories; 
although,  to  be  sure,  a  story  -may  escape  much  of  the  promi- 
nence that  a  play  has  which  becomes  the  subject  of  public  discus- 
sion. 

Probably  the  writer's  conclusions  will  not  be  much  changed  by 
considering  what"  explains  but  does  not  alter  the  situation; 
namely,  that  the  fate  of  the  plays  mentioned  seems  to  have  been 
largely  the  result  of  a  newspaper  raid  carried  on  by  editors  and 
reporters  with  the  zest  which  most  people  feel  when  they  have  got 
hold  of  "  a  good  thing "  and  have  succeeded  in  persuading  their 
conscience  that  it  is  their  duty  to  make  the  most  of  it.  Having 
observed  the  methods  of  several  such  campaigns — that,  for  instance, 
against  Shaw's  Mrs.  Warren's  Profession — the  present  writer 
cannot  convince  himself  that  they  represent  any  "  popular  uprising  " 
until  the  "  revolt "  has  been  stirred  up.  An  admirer  of  New  York 
City  journalism,  he  nevertheless  feels  that  the  methods  employed 
in  some  of  these  instances  are  a  reproach  to  the  profession.  The 
news  "  stories  "  and  the  headlines  over  them  were  alike  "  editorial " 
and  "  colored "  in  character — full  of  expressions  of  opinion  and 
inflammatory  in  tone;  yet  the  highest  ideal  of  good  newspaper  work 
is  that  of  giving  the  facts,  and  giving  them  uncolored. 

However,  that  (whether  sincerely  or  insincerely)  the  papers  thus 
at  times  descend  to  sensationalism,  and  that  their  power  is  sufficient 
to  stir  up  prejudice  that  neutralizes  the  artist's  aim  and  wrecks 
his  reasonable  expectation  of  earnings,  puts  the  author  face  to 
face  with  a  serious  personal  problem.  Shall  he  present  life  as  he 
sees  it,  running  the  risk  of  vilification  and  probably  business  ruin, 
or  shall  he  conventionalize  and  popularize  his  work,  consenting 
to  take  the  artistic  "  Easiest  Way  "  ? 


30  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

have  no  right  to  quarrel  with  him  because  the  facts  thus 
presented  carry  a  logical  corollary  that  convinces  us. 

9.  Unlike  the  purpose  story,  the  PROBLEM  story  does  not 
try  to  convince  the  reader  that  its  solution  of  the  problem 
is  the  right  solution;  it  endeavors  merely  to  lay  before 
him  a  clear  proposal  of  the  problem  involved  by  the  situa- 
tion, whatever  that  be.     To  understand  "  problem/'  we 
must,  however,  consider  the  term  "  crisis." 

10.  The  conte  requires  a  crisis.    Crisis  exists  when  the 
character  of  the  persons  and  the  nature  of  the  incidents  are 
such   that   a   conflict   of  interests,   desires,   or   duties  is 
brought  ahout — that  is,  when  the  plot  has  developed  what 
is  called  a  complication.     If  the  person  decides  or  acts 
in  one  way,   a  certain  set  of  consequences  will  follow; 
if  he  decides  or  acts  in  another  way,  an  altogether  different 
and  probably  quite  opposite  set  of  consequences  will  follow; 
and  it  is  immaterial  whether  at  the  moment  of  his  de- 
ciding or   acting  he   know   that   he   is   doing   something 
to   bring   on    such    consequences,    or   not.      The    critical 
moment,  now,  is  that  in  which  he  makes  the  decision  or 
performs  the  decisive  act.      (This  is  not  necessarily  the 
moment  of  supreme  impression,  i.e.,  the  climactic  height.) 

11.  Now  the    purpose    story    and   the   problem   story 
(like  all  other  short  stories,  or  contes)  have  each  a  crisis, 
which — technically — is  ended  with  the  decisive  moment. 
Moreover,  each  presents  a  problem,  some  question  of  right 
or  wrong,  or  better  or  worse,  out  of  which  its  crisis  grows. 
Still  further,  they  center  the  interest  on  this  problem; 
they  lay  it  before  us  with  the  implied  question,   What 
is  best  to  do  in  such  a  situation  ?     In  which  way  ought 
this  person  to  decide,  or  in  which  way  will  it  be  more 
fortunate  for  him  to  act  ? 


THEORY  or  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  31 

12.  We  now  come  to  the  difference  between  the  purpose 
and  the  problem   story.     Having  once  laid  its  problem 
before  us,  the  purpose  story  does  one  thing,  the  problem 
story  another.      The  purpose   story  not   only   solves   the 
problem,  but  solves  it  in  the  way  that,  it  would  persuade 
us,    is    the  only   true   or    right   way.     But   the    problem 
story  either  does  not  solve  the  problem  at  all  (The  Lady  or 
the  Tiger?),  or  it  solves  it  so  impartially  as  to  convey  no 
opinion  of  its  own  concerning  the  expediency  or  rightness 
of  the  solution. 

13.  In   other   words,   the   purpose   story   answers   for 
us  the  question,  What  is  best  ?  and  intends  this  answer 
to  satisfy  and  convince  us.     But  the  problem  story  (al- 
though of  course  it  usually  solves  the  complication  of  the 
plot)  does  not  attempt  at  all,  notwithstanding  this  solution, 
to  answer  the  question,  Which  is  right  or  what  is  best  ? 
It  aims  only  to  lay  the  problem  clearly  before  us,  leaving 
us,  uninfluenced  by  the  plot  outcome,  to  decide  on  the 
answer  for  ourselves.     In  such  stories  (we  must  be  sure 
to  remember)  the  outcome  is  an  artistic  or  dramatic  out- 
come, not  an  ethical  inference;  it  works  out  the  plot  to  one 
of  its  possible  conclusions,  but  this  conclusion  does  not 
answer,  and  is  not  meant  to  answer,  the  question  of  right 
or  wrong,  or  better  or  worse.     Notwithstanding  the  plot 
outcome,  the  problem  is  left  with  us  still  unanswered. 

14.  The  third  kind  of  thematic  story  we  have  not  yet 
discussed.    This  we  called  the  PURE-THEME  STORY.  In  fact, 
however,  purpose  stories,  problem  stories,   and  all  other 
contes  of  the  thematic  class,  are  pure-theme  stories;  for 
~by  theme  we  signify  the  central  topic  or  proposition,  the 
ultimate  working-thought.1*  If  the  writer's  intention  be 

11  See  paragraphs   19   and  20. 


32  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

to  convince  and  convert,  he  nevertheless  must  reach  his 
end  by  dramatically  developing  his  theme.  If  his  inten- 
tion be  to  propound  a  problem,  this  very  problem  is  the 
sum  and  substance  of  his  theme. 

15.  But  besides  the  two  sorts  already  discussed  there 
remain  the  great  majority  of  thematic  stories.     In  these, 
the   author's  immediate   intention  is  neither  to  convert 
nor  yet  to  propound  problems  as  such.     Instead,  starting 
with  some  central  thought  or  proposition,  he  strives  to 
build  this  up  and  amplify  it  in  a  course  of  dramatic 
narrative,  until  he  has  transformed  it  from  a  bare  logical 
proposition  into  a  coherent  body  of  action,  character,  and 
setting,  making  of  it  a  portrayal  which  can  leave  but  one 
main  impression.     By  employing  dramatic  narrative,  lie 
gradually  enlarges  on  and  develops  his  proposition  until 
it  reaches  the  reader  as  an  impression,  unified,  whole,  and 
artistic,  realized  through  the  imagination  and  emotions 
rather  than  through   the  reason  or  the  intellect.     This 
dramatic  bodying  forth  of  a  proposition  or  a  theme  it  is— 
whether  the   theme  be   bodied  forth   solely  for   its   own 
sake  or  with  a  purpose  also  to  convince  or  to  propound 
a  problem — that  makes  the  thematic  story  effective;  and 
it  is  emphasis  laid  especially  upon  the  theme  that  produces 
the  thematic  story. 

16.  Before  closing  this  section  we  should  make  note 
of  one  further  fact  about  the  theme.     In  one  sense,  every 
story  has  a  theme.     Yet  many  stories  have  no  immediate 
theme ;  their  "  theme  "  is  an  exceedingly  general  proposi- 
tion,  perhaps    even   nebulous    in    its    universality.12      In 

12  The  theme  is  virtually  the  "  masterplot  " — a  conception,  or  rather 
a  proposition,  of  so  general  a  character  that  it  can  be  bodied  forth 
in  a  large  number  of  distinct  plots  and  stories.  See  plot  germ, 
working-plot,  etc. 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  33 

stories  of  this  kind,  the  working-plot  is  likely  to  be  mis- 
taken by  the  careless  thinker  for  the  theme  itself.  But  the 
plot  is  not  the  theme;  it  merely  outlines  the  body  of 
incident  which,  combined  with  character-portrayal  and 
atmosphere,  will  body  forth  the  theme.  Concrete  examples 
will  enable  us  to  realize  the  nature  of  the  general,  remote 
theme  in  contrast  with  the  specific,  prominent  theme 
characteristic  of  the  thematic  story. 

17.  In  "  Nine  Assists  and  Two  Errors  "  (Charles  E. 
Van  Loan,  Saturday  Evening  Post,  May  31,  1913)  the 
theme  is:     A  winning  personality  overcomes   prejudice 
and  commands  friendship.     A  thousand  plots  might  be 
built  up  to  present  this  theme.    It  is  so  general  that,  in  a 
story  of  much  incident,  characterization,  or  atmosphere,  it 
is  likely  to  be  overlooked  entirely — not  a  bad  thing  for 
artistic   effect,   provided    only   that   the   reader   feel  the 
theme,  even  though  he  is  not  consciously  aware  of  it.    And 
in  fact  some  thought  is  required  to  determine  the  ultimate 
theme  of  this  story.     But  its  plot  is  easily  stated.     A 
young  man,  ambitious  to  be  a  baseball  pitcher,  but  quite 
without   ability,   through   his   pleasing  personality  over- 
comes the  prejudice  of  a  manager,  gets  on  the  team,  and 
actually  persuades  the  "  old  man  "  to  "  throw  "  an  unim- 
portant game  in  order  to  help  him  win  his  lady-love,  an 
admirer  of  ball-players  (a  surprise  element  is  introduced 
by  making  the  lady-love  the  manager's  daughter).     The 
story  is  a  character,  atmosphere,  and  humor  story,  not  a 
story  of  theme ;  and  only  upon  consideration  can  we  deter- 
mine the  underlying  conception  which  the  plot  embodies. 

18.  But  in  "  Nerve  "  (by  William  Slavins,  Collier's, 
September   20,   1913)    the   theme   is   intentionally  made 
prominent  by  the  writer.     In  this  story  (which  is  taken 


34  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

merely  at  random  as  an  example)  there  is  a  philosophical 
introduction,  mainly  dialogue,  wherein  different  views  of 
the  same  question  are  presented ;  and  in  the  course  of  the 
dialogue  the  man  who  presently  tells  the  story  that  exem- 
plifies the  theme,  says :  "  To  my  way  o'  thinkin'  a  man 
shows  clean  game  when  he  does  the  thing  that's  hardest 
for  him,  whereas  the  same  thing  might  be  just  like  eatin' 
a  meal  to  me."  Here  we  have  the  theme  stated  in  exact 
words — thought  out  and  shaped  up  for  the  reader's  atten- 
tion before  any  element  of  the  plot  has  been  introduced. 
In  fact,  the  introduction  is  no  true  part  of  the  actual  plot 
and  story ;  it  is  merely  the  author's  device  in  this  instance 
for  making  certain  that  the  theme  is  emphasized  so  plainly 
that  no  reader,  in  the  interest  of  the  story  itself,  shall 
overlook  it. 

19.  In  the  two  stories  here  cited,  we  have  therefore 
excellent  though  haphazardly  chosen  examples  of  extremes 
in  theme  importance.    But  the  fact  that  in  Mr.  Van  Loan's 
story  we  really  do  not  need  at  all  to  know  the  theme,  and 
yet  with  a  little,  thought  can  readily  find  it,  illustrates 
this  truth :  Every  conte  embodies  a  theme,  no  matter  how 
general  or  remote  this  theme  may  be;  for  no  reasonable 
plot  can  be  stated,  based  on  the  realities  of  life,  that  does 
not  exemplify  or  contain  in  the  concrete  some  truth  of 
human  existence.    Were  it  otherwise,  the  story  would  be 
untrue. 

20.  The  thematic  story,  we  may  here  remark,  is  ex- 
ceedingly adaptable  to  purposes  of  direct  interpretation. 
We  have  already  noted  that  the  best  fiction  does  more  than 
merely  interest ;  it  contributes  to  the  better  comprehension 
of  life  itself.     It  brings  before  the  reader,  in  coherent 
inter-relationships,  motives,  influences,  deeds,  ideals,  char- 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHOUT  STORY  TYPE  35 

acter;  and  when  he  comprehends  these  relationships,  lie 
comes  into  possession  of  a  theory,  a  view,  or  a  principle  of 
human  nature  and  its  workings  as  the  author  conceives 
it  to  be.  This  conception  on  the  part  of  the  reader  is 
identical  (at  least  theoretically)  with  the  conception  on 
which  the  author  built  up  his  story;  that  is,  with  the 
theme  itself.  Therefore,  the  writer  who  wishes  particularly 
to  interpret  life — to  give  the  reader  an  explanation  and 
simplification  of  life  as  it  appears  under  certain  definite 
conditions — has  an  effective  means  in  the  thematic  story; 
for  in  the  theme  he  summarizes  his  interpretation,  and  in 
the  development  of  his  story  constantly  emphasizes  and 
illustrates  this  theme. 

21.  From  these  explanations,  one  important  conclusion 
follows.     Unless  one  is  writing  a  thematic  story,  he  need 
not  worry  about  finding  a  theme  with  which  to  begin. 
//  the  plot  be  well  built  and  the  action  truly  motivated 
in  character,  they  will  inevitably  embody  a  theme.     The 
beginner,  therefore,  will  do  as  the  experienced  writer  often- 
est  does:  -first  seek  a  plot,  or  at  least  the  "germ"  of  a 
plot.     When  the  plot  idea,  or  germ,  is  discovered,  it  will 
develop  into  a  story  if  rightly  managed;  and  behind  the 
story  there  will  always  be  a  theme. 

22.  Unless  the  presentation  of  an  emphasized  theme 
be  the  writer's  main  object  (let  us  repeat),  he  need  not 
worry  about  anything  at  first  but  the  creation  of  a  plot, 
with  its  developing  material.     True,  he  cannot  build  a 
plot  without  realizing  that  in  it  is  embodied  some  central 
idea  or  proposition.     But  the  gift  of  art  is,  to  present 
things  in  the  concrete;  and  its  value  is,  that  as  it  sees 
deeply   and   truly,   that   which   it   presents   concretely  is 
itself,  by  reason  of  this  grasp  and  insight,  an  illustration 


36  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

of  or  a  commentary  upon  life  or  character.  A  clearly 
visioned,  truly  motived  story,  therefore,  always  contains 
some  inevitably  embodied  theme ;  fit  matter  for  reflection. 
But  it  is  reflection  on  the  part  of  the  reader.  To  him  the 
writer  had  better  leave  the  discovery  and  weighing  of 
the  theme,  provided  only  that  the  story  as  the  writer  cre- 
ates it,  incarnates  this  controlling  conception  in  a  body  of 
coherent  fact  and  action,  true  to  human  nature  and  to  life. 

IX.    SOME  SHORT  STORIES  EMPHASIZE  PLOT 

1.  We  have  already  seen  that  the  final  effectiveness  of 
the  conte  involves  two  chief  factors:  an  outcome,  and  an 
impression.     "  Outcome  "  we  are  to  understand  somewhat 
narrowly.     The  incidents  and  action  of  the  story  bring- 
forth  a  final  deed,  incident,  or  situation — the  outcome; 
something  done   or  happening  that   puts  a  close  to  the 
series  in  such  a  way  as  to  be  the  conclusion  of  the  whole 
matter — the  consequence  and  end  of  what  precedes. 

2.  Some  outcome  is  necessary  to  the  conclusion  of  every 
short  story,  but  this  must  not  be  thought  to  mean  that  the 
outcome  itself  is  always  the  principal  source  of  the  im- 
pression.    "  Impression  "  indicates  the  sum  total  of  the 
effect  worked  on  the  reader  by  the  story — aroused  interest, 
stirred  emotions,  character  appreciation,  etc. — united  and 
merged  in  one  definite,  single,  predominant  effect.13     In 
making  this  impression,  theme,  character,  atmosphere,  and 
plot  have  each  a  part;  but  in  one  type  of  conte,  that 
which  emphasizes  plot,  the  plot  of  course  is  the  leading 
impression-maker.     In  the  plot  story,  the  total  effect  must 


18  Inasmuch  as  this  effect  is  worked  by  stimulating  fancy,  imagina- 
tion, and  emotion,  the  impression  is  predominantly  emotional  in 
nature.  See  Sec.  XI.,  14. 


THEOKY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  37 

mainly  depend  on  the  two  plot  parts ;  namely,  the  incidents 
and  action  that  produce  the  outcome,  and  the  final  situation 
and  outcome  itself. 

3.  The   plot   story   therefore  must   have   much   quick 
action,   stirring  incident,   adventure,  surprise,   mystery;  [ 
complicated  situations,  romantic  situations,  etc.    Not  that 
all  of  these  are  likely  to  be  found  in  any  one  story,  but 
that  every  one  of  them  is  likely  to  supply  the  material  for 
a  plot  story  or  to  constitute  an  important  element  in  its 
effectiveness. 

4.  For  the  sake  of  simplicity  we  may  include  all  of 
these  characteristics,  and  any  others  belonging  to  the  plot 
story  as  such,  in  three  categories.     We  shall  then  see  that 
the  plot  story  is  a  story  in  which  the  effect  is  produced 
through  (a)  lively  action,  (b)  abundant  incident,  and  (c) 
abundant  actfvity.    Eoughly  defined,  an  incident  is  one  of 
the  single  coherent  events  included  in  the  story  as  being 
either  essential  to  the  action  or  as  otherwise  clearly  contrib- 
uting to  the  total  effect.     Action  is  the  combination  and 
advance  of  incident  and  events  toward  a  definite  outcome 
in    accordance   with   the   scheme   provided   by   the    plot. 
Activity  is  the  behavior,  acts,  deeds,  and  "  business  "  (stage 
meaning)  of  the  persons  singly  or  together.    Quick  action, 
abundant  incident,  and  much  activity,  are  the  characteris- 
tics of  the  plot  story.14 

5.  Classification  of  plot  stories  into  sub-groups  is  diffi- 
cult.    We  may,  however,  further  indicate  the  nature  of 

14  Somewhat  more  loosely,  "  action  "  carries  the  idea  of  "  all  that's 
doing  "  or  "  whatever  is  doing.'*  It  then  indicates  all  that  we  have 
classified  separately  above. — A  story  may  include  several  groups 
of  incident ;  incident  groups  may  then  be  termed  "  events,"  the 
term  "  incident "  being  reserved  for  the  single  coherent  event  of 
smaller  compass, 


38  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

the  plot  story  by  mentioning  various  sub-types,  provided 
that  we  do  not  regard  these  sub-types  as  clearly  delimited 
and  mutually  exclusive.  With  this  understanding,  we 
may  say  that  plot  stories  fall  into  two  classes.  They  are 
either  stories  of  ingenious  complication  or  else  stories  of 
lively  action.  In  the  one  case,  the  interest  lies  in  the 
ingenuity  of  fancy,  incident,  entanglement,  and  solution. 
In  the  other,  it  lies  in  the  excitement  of  the  rapid  move- 
ment, the  quick  passing  from  deed  to  deed,  incident  to 
incident,  and  event  to  event,  up  through  a  stirring  climax 
to  a  stirring  outcome.  Usually,  of  course,  rapid  action  and 
ingenious  plot-complication  go  together. 

6.  In  stories  of  the  ingenious-plot  type,  the  attention 
is  held,  not  primarily  by  the  persons  who  act,  nor  by  the 
surroundings  or  atmosphere  in  which  the  action  takes 
place,  nor  by  the  theme  embodied  in  the  story;  first  and 
mainly  it  is  held  by  the  body  of  incident  itself.  What 
interests  the  reader  is,  the  single  incidents  and  successive 
events  as  they  are  wrought  together,  one  by  one,  and  the 
situation  or  situations  15  brought  about  by  these  incidents 
as  they  succeed  and  combine  with  one  another,  and  so  draw 
on  toward  the  grand  climax. 

6A.  The  more  ingeniously  these  are  wrought  together, 
to  arouse  interest  and  yet  to  keep  the  outcome  seemingly 
uncertain,  the  more  concentrated  will  the  reader  be  in 

15 "  Situation "  indicates  the  state  of  affairs  existing  at  any 
particular  moment  by  reason  of  the  development  of  the  story  up 
to  that  point;  especially,  the  critical  state  of  affairs  existing  at 
climactic  moments  in  the  progress  of  the  action,  usually  those  pro- 
duced by  the  culmination  of  a  definite  stage  ("movement")  of  plot 
development.  In  the  theater,  for  instance,  the  curtain  is  not  allowed 
to  fall  except  when  a  "  situation  "  has  been  developed  to  bring  it 
down,  thus  marking  the  close  of  a  scene  or  an  act. 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHOKT  STORY  TYPE  39 

his  pursuit  of  the  plot  to  its  conclusion.  For  it  is  the 
skill — indeed  the  ingenuity — with  which  detail  is  woven 
in  with  detail  and  incident  with  incident,  moving  steadily 
toward  an  outcome  the  more  eagerly  anticipated  because  its 
nature  cannot  be  accurately  guessed — it  is  this  that  gives 
the  ingenious-plot  story  its  fascination. 

7.  Various  kinds  of  story  are  of  the  ingenious-plot 
type.  The  "  surprise-plot "  story  is  a  good  example.  In 
this,  the  plot  is  skillfully  shaped  to  lead  the  reader  into 
anticipating  a  certain  outcome,  or  to  keep  him  from 
guessing  the  outcome  that  is  intended;  then  at  the  last — 
and  always  suddenly  if  the  best  effect  is  attained — an  un- 
expected outcome  leaves  him  gasping  with  surprise.  The 
surprise-plot  story,  well  done,  unquestionably  is  effective ; 
and  occasionally  an  editor  is  found  who  regards  it  as  the 
chief  among  short  stories,  if  not  indeed  the  only  sort 
worth  printing.  But  this  is  an  extreme  opinion.  Even 
the  ingenious-plot  conte  can  exist  without  a  surprise  out- 
come ;  and  a  large  amount  of  exceedingly  valuable  material 
could  not  be  utilized  at  all  by  the  short  story  if  it  had  to 
be  presented  through  a  surprise  plot.  Imagine  the  render- 
ing by  surprise  outcome  of  such  a  tragic  procession  of 
events  as  that  of  Mrs.  Wharton's  Ethan  Frome!  Yet 
Ethan  Frome — testing  by  ultimate  standards — is  worth 
dozens  of  the  ordinary  surprise-plot  story.16 

19  The  purpose  of  this  book  being  the  explanation  of  the  method, 
or  constructional  principles,  of  the  conte,  the  author  has  but 
seldom  introduced  comment  depending  upon  those  larger  esthetic 
principles  by  which  final  worth  in  literature  must  be  estimated.  In 
other  words,  he  has  for  the  most  part  refrained  from  judgments  in 
which  an  attempt  is  made  to  evaluate  stories,  types,  forms,  or 
points  of  view.  The  few  exceptions  will  (he  trusts)  explain  and 
justify  themselves. 


40  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

8.  Again,  the  surprise  ending  itself  is  subject  to  abuse 
— as  in  stories  made  to  end  with  a  surprise  that  shocks  the 
sensibilities,  or  does  illogical  violence  to  the  sympathies 
of  the  reader,  or  to  his  liking  for  the  personages  of  the 
story.      Indeed,    the   surprise    ending   can   quickly  grow 
into  tyranny  over  its  employer,  becoming  an  offensive  and 
a  fatal  trick.     When  it  has  thus  established  domination 
over  a  writer,  he  will  use  it  in  place  and  out  of  place, 
emphasizing  trivialities,  subjecting  his  plots  to  mechanical 
and  artificial  manipulations,  and  at  the  end  introducing 
impertinent  incongruities  to  the  exclusion  of  serious  con- 
clusions.    In  a  word,  abuse  of  the  surprise  plot  is  easy, 
and  may  result  in  flippancy,  artificiality,  and  a  general 
cheapening  of  effect. 

9.  Mystery  stories  are  another  interesting  and  favorite 
sort  of  ingenious-plot  story  (the  surprise  ending  is  fre- 

\quent  in  them).  As  mystery  stories  we  may  classify  all 
stories  of  which  the  chief  purpose  is,  to  solve  some  problem 
of  explanation,  means,  or  discovery.  Such  for  example 
are  detective  stories;  ghost  stories  and  other  tales  of  the 
weird,  horrible,  or  occult,  when  the  interest  lies  in  the 
explanation,  not  the  phenomena ; 1T  and  many  stories  of 
crime  or  vengeance. 

10.  Commonly,  mystery  stories  assume  a  state  of  affairs 
such  as  seems  well-nigh  inexplicable,  together  with   an 
apparently  quite  inadequate  body  of  fact  from  which  to 
solve  the  problem  of  explanation  or  discovery.     From  the 
facts  thus  assumed,  with  the  discovery  and  introduction 
from  time  to  time  of  additional  facts,  they  proceed  by 

1T  When  the  effect  depends  on  merely  the  presence  of  mystery, 
not  on  the  explanation  of  it,  we  have  an  atmosphere  conte,  not  a 
plot  conte. 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  41 

reasoning  (both  inductive  and  deductive)  through  stages 
of  advancement  and  renewed  complication  toward  the  final 
solution ;  and  at  last,  by  a  sudden  decisive  piece  of  logic — 
usually  accompanied  with  action — bring  forth  the  true  con- 
clusion. The  stages  ("  movements  ")  by  which  the  denoue- 
ment, or  final  untangling,  is  approached,  do  not,  however, 
always  seem  stages  of  progress.  On  the  contrary,  the  facts, 
as  the  narrative  proceeds,  appear  now  to  point  to  one  con- 
clusion, now  to  another,  and  are  all  the  time  baffling;  and 
their  total  effect  prior  to  the  completion  of  the  disentan- 
gling is,  to  keep  the  reader  excitedly  puzzled  about  the  out- 
come and  eagerly  interested  to  know  it. 

11.  To  the  beginner,  one  caution  must  be  emphatically 
given  about  the  plot  in  the  plot  story.     It  must  not  be 
overcrowded  with  either  incident  or  action.     True,  it  will 
be  complicated;  but  all  plots  are  that.     This  means  no 
more  than  that  it  includes  some  element  that  checks,  or 
stops,  or  changes,  the  otherwise  plain  course  of  the  action. 
Without  such  an  obstacle,  there  could  be  no  conflict,  no 
crisis,  no  uncertainty  about  outcome  and  result.     In  the 
short  story  that  emphasizes  plot,  the  number  of  such  com- 
plicating influences   tends  to   increase  rapidly.     But   at 
their  most  numerous,  they  must  not  be  so  many  that  they 
congest  the  story,  cramp  the  action,  interfere  with  the  just 
development  of  characterization,  or  require  a  total  amount 
of  setting  out  of  proportion  to  the  other  narrative  elements. 
Nor  must  ancillary  incident  overflow  either  the  plot  it 
supplements  or  the  other  bounds  of  proportion.     In  other 
words,  even  the  plot  story  must  not  be  all  plot  and  incident; 
there  must  be  an  adequate  proportion  of  the  other  fiction 
elements. 

12,  The  reason  for  all  this  is  very  practical.     The 


42  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

conte  must  be  short  enough  for  reading  at  a  single  sitting ; 
excessive  incident  or  action,  with  a  due  proportion  of  stag- 
ing and  characterization,  would  extend  the  story  beyond 
the  time  limit  in  which  the  necessary  single  effect  can  be 
attained.  Since  in  the  market  few  stories  longer  than 
8,000  or  at  most  10,000  words  find  a  welcome,  the  practi- 
cal inadvisability  of  including  copious  incident  or  requir- 
ing unstinted  action  is  evident.  But  except  for  this, 
no  limitations  need  be  observed  so  long  as  the  inci- 
dent and  action  continue  to  contribute  to  the  single  effect 
desired. 

13.  Turn  now  from  the  type  of  plot  story  in  which  in- 
genuity in  construction  and  the  creation  and  combining 
of  incident  is  the  leading  characteristic,  to  the  type  in 
which  action  rather  than  ingenuity  is  emphasized.     In 
the  action  type  of  plot  story,  the  leading  position  probably 
is  occupied  by  the  adventure  story.     In  company  with 
this  should  be  mentioned  the  stories  that  are  built  largely 
upon  romantic  elements   other  than   adventure;   for  the 
two  are  difficultly  separable.     "  Adventure  "  as  just  used 
has  the  older  sense  of  physical  adventure — that  involving 
physical   courage   and   endeavor,    daring  in  the   face  of 
bodily  danger,  and  the  like.     Naturally  the  story  of  in- 
trigue   (when  active  behavior  instead  of  ingenious  plot 
dominates  it)  associates  itself  with  the  story  of  adventure 
and  romance. 

14.  The  word  "  adventure  "  is  however  rapidly  taking 
on  a  broader  meaning,  in  which  the  merely  physical  con- 
notation is  much  less ;  and  this  meaning  is  showing  itself 
in  recent  literature,  especially  in  fiction.    We  have  had,  for 
example,  Adventures  in  Contentment  (not  cited,  of  course, 
as  an  example  of  fiction)  ;  and  of  late  years  fiction  has 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  43 

been  rich  in  narratives  that  deal  with  industrial,  business, 
and  sociological  emprise.  To  many  of  the  incidents  in 
such  narratives,  the  term  "  adventure  "  is  to  be  applied 
quite  as  justly  as  it  was  originally  to  the  other  kind  of 
adventuring.  These  stories,  we  should  note,  have,  however, 
a  natural  relationship  with  realism  through  dealing  with 
matters  that  are  so  closely  associated  with  ordinary  life; 
hence  they  not  infrequently  develop  a  tendency  to  realistic 
treatment.  The  natural  outcome  is  an  effective  if  not  a 
novel  blending  of  romantic  with  realistic  elements,  produc- 
ing work  of  no  little  value  in  interpreting  life  in  its 
daily  aspects.  But  as  the  realistic  elements  increase, 
the  plot  naturally  ceases  to  occupy  so  prominent  a 
place;  hence  realistic  stories  of  this  sort  (like  most 
other  realistic  stories)  soon  pass  out  of  the  plot  story 
class. 

X.    SOME  CONTES  EMPHASIZE   CHARACTER 

1.  "  The  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man."  This  is 
the  underlying  conviction  of  all  good  literature  and  indeed 
of  all  art.  Whatever  else  finds  a  place  in  fiction,  finds 
its  place  there  because  in  some  way  it  is  associated  with 
man  and  the  life  he  lives.  Nature,  for  illustration,  enters 
into  fiction  because  it  forms  so  much  of  man's  environment, 
stirring  his  love  of  beauty,  terrifying  him  by  the  relentless 
power  it  exerts,  stimulating  him  to  effort  in  order  to  con- 
quer and  dominate  it,  exalting  him  to  awe  and  reverence 
by  its  sublimity.  Plot  and  incident  find  a  place  in  fiction  \' 
because  they  show  men  in  action  under  the  manifold  im-  I 
pulses  and  influences  that  shape  human  destiny.  Theme 
is  important  in  fiction  because  it  supplies  a  means  of  sum- 


44  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

marizing  conclusions  about  man  and  his  destiny,  or  of 
stating  human  problems  in  a  suitable  form  for  concrete 
observation,  analysis,  or  demonstration. 

2.  Accordingly,  whatever  material  yields  itself  to  fiction 
is  material  found  in  man's  relationships  with  the  universe ; 
whatever  mood  or  tone  or  method  is  employed  in  treating 
this  material,  is  employed  because  it  is  a  mood  or  tone  or 
method  that  springs  from  these  relationships.     From  the 
most  serious  novel  to  the  lightest  skit,  the  final  concern  of 
the  writer  and  of  the  reader  is  man  and  his  existence,  seen, 
of  course,  in  the  character  and  behavior  of  individual  men 
and  women;  for  fiction,  being  a  form  of  art,  deals  as  we 
saw  with  concrete  instances  rather  than  with  general  con- 
ceptions. 

3.  These  relations  of  man  with  the  universe  are  three. 
iHe  deals  and  struggles  with,  influences  and  is  influenced 
[by,   the   physical   world;    deals   and   struggles   with,    in- 
'  fluences  and  is  influenced  by,  other  men ;  and  deals  and 

struggles  with,  influences  18  and  is  influenced  by,  the  moral 
and  spiritual  world — the  forces  for  good  and  evil  that  lie 
(or  seem  to  lie)  largely  in  himself.  In  all  this  dealing, 
struggling,  and  influencing,  it  is  the  character  of  the  in- 
dividual that  is  principally  involved.  We  may  therefore 
say  that  character  manifests  itself — 

(a)  In  the  dealings  of  men  with  the  physical  world. 

(b)  In  the  dealings  of  men  with  one  another. 

*(c)    In  the  dealings  of  men  with  their  own  moral  or 
spiritual  nature,  and  the  forces  that  influence  it. 

4.  When  therefore  the  writer  creates  a  story  that  em- 
phasizes   character,    and   emphasizes   it   successfully,   he 
creates  a  story  that,  in  its  appropriate  class  of  light  or 

18  For  instance,  he  establishes  his  own  codes  of  morals, 


THEOKY  OF  THE  SHOET  STORY  TYPE  45 

serious,  is  exceedingly  vital  and  worthy.  For  in  a  charac- 
ter we  read,  writ  small  and  in  a  fragmentary  monument, 
the  nature  and  destiny  of  man.  To  the  portrayal  of  sta- 
tionary character,  and  still  more  to  the  presentation  of 
character  in  process  of  growth  or  deterioration,  all  the 
utility  of  plot,  theme,  and  atmosphere,  and  of  all  other 
literary  accessories  of  narration,  may  rightly  be  directed. 
Especially  effective  is  a  combination  of  characterization 
with  theme  emphasis ;  for  the  theme  embodies  the  central 
thought  concerning  life,  and  the  characterization  clothes  on 
this  thought  with  all  the  vraisemblance,  all  the  true-seem- 
ing, of  actual  human  life  itself. 

5.  Yet   the    beginning   writer    should   not   be   led   to 
suppose  that  he  ought  to  turn  his  prentice  hand  to  the 
character  story  only.     Quite  the  contrary  is  true.     He 
should  first  accustom  himself  to  the  management  of  plot ; 
for  in  the.conte  the  most  indispensable  element  is  plot — \ 
even  when  the  plot  is  wholly  subordinate.     And  although 
the  tyro  in  writing  may  soon  begin  to  practice  on  character 
sketching,  and  even  on  characterization  in  dramatic  nar- 
rative, he  must  not  expect  in  any  sudden  burst  of  develop- 
ment to  blossom  into  the  master's  skill  of  character  treat- 
ment. 

6.  There  is  too  another  -  reason  for  delaying  besides 
that  of  making  thoroughly  ready  before  attempting  the 
work  of  characterization  in  dramatic  narrative.    It  is  this : 
although  as  a  type  the  character  story  probably  is  superior 
to  any  other  of  the  individual  types  of  conte,  it  is  not  by  any 
means  a  universal  favorite.    A  lamentably  large  proportion 
of  readers  cannot  (if  the  truth  must  be  told)  appreciate 
or  even  comprehend  it ;  it  commands  a  more  limited  public, 
perhaps,  than  any  other  type  commands,  unless  it  be  the 


46  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

atmosphere  story.  This  assertion,  of  course,  will  not  al- 
ways hold  of  the  best  short  stories ;  but  that  is  because 
the  best  short  stories  do  not  emphasize  any  one  element 
at  the  expense  of  another,  but  emphasize  proportionately 
theme,  j)lot,  atmosphere,  and  character;  and  they  are,  more- 
over, often  so  simple,  so  humari^  so  "  universal "  in  their 
appeal  (as  the  cant  phrase  runs),  that  readers  even  of 
comparatively  limited  culture  can  enjoy  them,  even  though 
unable  to  appreciate  them.  Saying  this  is  but  re-saying 
what  is  so  well  known  already,  that  many  of  the  true 
masterpieces  of  literature  are — within  limits — for  all  sorts 
and  conditions  of  men. 

4  7.  And  yet  even  the  tyro,  delaying  in  order  to  make 
sure  preparation  before  attempting  the  character  story, 
will  have  the  character  story  always  before  him  as  part 
of  his  ideal.  For  the  plot  story  that  is  also  a  character 
story  is  doubly  excellent ;  the  atmosphere  story  that  is  also 
a  character  story  is  doubly  excellent,  and  the  theme  story 
that  is  not  also  a  character  story  is  doubly  in  danger  of 
failure  even  as  a  theme  story.  To  study  human  nature,  to 
study  men  and  their  ways,  to  observe  the  thousand-and-one 
manifestations  through  which  the  temperament  and  the 
human  nature  of  every  individual  may  reveal  itself,  to 
perceive  the  innumerable  influences  that  affect  men,  shape 
their  character,  and  help  to  determine  their  destiny,  and 
to  strive  always  and  unceasingly  to  body  forth  in  story 
form  the  facts  learned  in  the  course  of  this  never-ceasing 
study — this  must  always  be  the  aspiration  and  aim  of 
the  true  artist  in  fiction,  unsubdued  and  unsubduable 
in  him  because  it  is  the  very  essence  and  spirit  of  his 
genius. 

8.    We  should  now  define  clearly  to  ourselves  WHAT 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  47 

CHARACTER  is.  All  animal  creatures  may  be  said  to  have 
character.  That  is,  they  have  a  set  of  fundamental  or 
primary  instincts,  or  natural  tendencies  or  habits  of  re- 
action which  have  been  developed  by  an  age-long  course 
of  existence  under  particular  conditions.  These  instincts, 
tendencies,  and  habits  are  common  to  all  members  of  the 
family,  and  by  virtue  of  them,  all  members  of  the  family 
respond  in  the  same  way  to  the  same  stimuli  and  motives 
to  action. 

9.  But   in   each  individual,   especially   in  the  higher 
forms  of  life,  these  instinctive,  nature-given  tendencies 
have  been  more  or  less  modified  by  particular  influences 
affecting  the  individual  only,  whereby  the  moods  and  acts 
of  this  individual  are  caused  to  vary  from  the  family  or 
racial  standard,  or  norm.     To  illustrate:  All  horses  have 
the  same  primary,  fundamental,  or  nature-given  instincts 
and  tendencies  (we  will  not  confuse  ourselves  by  consider- 
ing how  domestication  has  modified  these  as  they  exist  in 
the  wild  horse).     Yet,  notwithstanding  these  identical  in- 
stincts and  characteristics,  one  horse  is  affectionate  and 
another  fierce;  one  is  patient,  another  nervous  and  im- 
patient; one  trustworthy,  another  treacherous,  and  so  on. 
Even  different  colts  of  the  same  mare  and  sire  may  have 
notably  variant  characteristics.     This  basic  nature  in  the  - 
creature,  modified  or  shaped  into  individual  traits  and 
tendencies,    is    the    character    of    thai    creature.      It    is 
manifested    through    the    creature's    behavior    and    con- 
duct. 

10.  We  may  pause  here  to  remark  that  there  is  one 
immense  difference  between  the  behavior  and  conduct  of 
mankind  and  that  of  other  animals.     The  action  of  man. 
is  reasoned;  that  of  beasts  is  based  upon  no  reflective 


48  SHORT  STOKIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

foresight.  This  fact  is  what  makes  drama  and  fiction 
possible,  for  it  is  what  makes  possible  motive  and  therefore 
conflict — the  conscious  struggle  between  man  and  the 
physical  world,  between  man  and  man,  between  man  and 
his  own  spiritual  nature.  The  uncertainty,  the  variety, 
the  comedy,  the  tragedy,  all  the  interest  of  human  life, 
spring  mainly  from  this  ability  of  man  to  perceive  and 
consider  alternatives,  to  weigh  consequences,  to  pick  and 
choose  or  predetermine  (or  at  least  attempt  to  predeter- 
mine) results.  Fiction  is  interesting  largely  because  it 
thus  shows  us  man  employing — or  failing  to  employ — this 
faculty  of  reflective  foresight;  and  motivation  and  plot 
are  possible  only  because  there  exists  this  reasoning  faculty 
in  man. 

11.  We  return  now  to  our  consideration  of  character. 
Men    as    a    genus,    family,    or    class,    have    their   dis- 
tinctive  nature,   their  peculiar   set   of  instincts,   nature- 
bestowed  tendencies,  and  habits  and  emotional  reactions  so 
long  kept  up  that  they  have  practically  established  them- 
selves as  instincts.     This  is  human  nature — the  whole  set 
of  instincts,  tendencies,  emotions,  and  motives  common  to 
mankind.     And  human  nature   is   the   basis  of  human 
character. 

12.  But  in  character  there  is  always  a  second  element ; 
for  character  is  the  basic  human  nature  shaped  and  modi- 
fied into  individual  traits  and  tendencies  that  are  mani- 
fested in  the   conduct   of  the   individual.      This  second 
element  in  human  character  we  may  say  is  temperament, 
the  quality  or  disposition  peculiar  to  the  individual.    This 
temperament,  or  temper  of  the  individual   (to  adopt  an 
Elizabethan  term  signifying  quality  as  it  results  from  a 
particular  and  successful  admixture  of  ingredients),  may 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  S^ORY  TYPE  49 

be  the  consequence  of  any  of  an  indefinite  number  of 
modifying  influences.  Thus,  it  depends  often  upon  con- 
stitution, upon  nervous  organization,  or  upon  physiological 
conditions.  Congeniality  of  surroundings  or  of  occupation 
affects  it  wholesomely.  Indeed,  its  healthiness  largely 
depends  upon  the  proper  gratification  of  individual  tastes 
and  appetites.  It  is  also  partly  determined  by  the  in- 
dividual's amount  of  will-power,  enabling  him  to  adapt 
himself  to  his  surroundings;  and  intellectual  or  spiritual 
discipline,  resulting  from  either  education  or  experience, 
will  always  result  in  an  increased  control  of  environment 
by  the  individual,  and  thus  by  controlling  one  of  the  most 
important  shaping  influences  indirectly  determine  tem- 
perament itself. 

13.  Again,  habits  affect  temperament,  whether  they  be 
developed   through    natural   inclination   or   through   con- 
straint.    Years  of  study  will  unfit  for  active  pursuits  a 
man  originally  of  the  most   active  tendency.      Teachers 
of   composition    afford    another    example.      Required    by 
their  business  to  maintain  constant  watchfulness  for  small 
errors,  they  not  infrequently  find  themselves  developing 
querulousness  and  a  tendency  to  petty  fault-finding.    How- 
ever, exhaustive  enumeration  of  the  influences  that  de- 
termine  temperament    is    impossible;    for   anything   and 
everything,  even  interplaying  qualities  of  human  nature 
itself,  may  react  on  the  individual  to  modify  into  variant 
aspects  the  elemental  traits  and  qualities  of  our  common 
human  nature,  and  thus  determine  temperament. 

14.  So  much  for  the  two  constituents  of  human  charac- 
ter.   What  then  is  character  itself  ?     Character  is  the  sum 
of  the  moral,  intellectual,  and  physical  instincts,  tenden- 
cies, qualities,  and  habits  of  the  individual,  resulting  from 


50  SHOET  P  TORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

the  union  of  human  nature  and  temperament,™  and  mani- 
festing itself  in  what  he  thinks  and  does.  This  manifesta- 
tion may  be  internal,  appearing  merely  in  the  thoughts 
and  imaginings  of  the  man,  or  external,  appearing  in 
action — his  speech,  acts,  behavior,  outward  conduct. 

15.  For  purposes  of  dramatic  presentation,  only  ex- 
ternal manifestations  of  character  are  available.  Pure 
psychological  analysis,  or  narration  of  psychological  ex- 
perience— recounting  the  events  in  the  march  of  conscious- 
ness, or  picturing  forth  in  its  flow  the  so-called  stream  of 
consciousness — is  not  dramatic.  Hence  it  is  expedient, 
even  though  arbitrary,  to  exclude  fiction  that  is  developed 
by  this  method  from  the  class  of  the  conte.  This  is  not 
to  say,  however,  that  there  are  no  true  psychological  short 
stories.  The  true  psychological  conte,  however,  is  that  in 
which  the  mental  state  and  action  are  not  narrated,  de- 
scribed, or  analyzed  directly,  but  are  instead  made  clear 
through  the  truly  dramatic — i.e.,  actional — means  of 
external  manifestation.  What  is  said  and  done  in  the 
course  of  the  plot  development  reveals  (but  does  not  relate) 
what  the  person  is  thinking  and  feeling.  The  psychologi- 
cal story  that  presents  these  mental  states  otherwise  than 
by  this  truly  actional  method  of  speech  and  act,  possibly 
should  be  regarded  as  in  fact  a  peculiar  class.  We  may 
call  it  psychological  description,  or  psychological  narration, 
or  name  its  product  the  psychological-analytical  narrative, 
etc. ;  we  may  even  argue  that  there  is  a  dramatic  quality 

19  The  student  of  men  in  the  mass  will  find  various  divisions  and 
subdivisions  between  the  race  and  the  individual.  Each  of  these 
will  have  its  own  distinctive  characteristics — those  of  nationality, 
for  example.  Each  social  rank,  each  profession,  etc.,  has  its  peculiar 
class  characteristics.  It  follows,  therefore,  that  characterization 
must  take  note  of  individual,  of  class,  and  of  race  traits. 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHOET  STOEY  TYPE  51 

in  many  psychological  situations  or  operations.  But  the 
fact  remains,  that  psychological  analysis  does  not  present 
persons  acting;  and  therefore  it  is  doubtfully  dramatic  in 
the  sense  required  by  the  short  story.  However  (although 
it  has  seemed  well  to  discuss  the  matter  rather  fully  here) , 
the  problem  of  presenting  psychological  phenomena  is  in 
truth  more  a  problem  how  to  portray  a  person  during  his 
passage  through  a  psychological  experience  than  it  is  a 
question  of  character  and  its  manifestation. 

16.    We  return  therefore  briefly  to  direct  consideration 
of  the  short  story  that  emphasizes  character.     The  means 
whereby  character  can  be  dramatically  presented  in  nar- 
rative will  be  discussed  in  some  detail  in  a  later  chapter ; 
consequently  we  need  here  only  repeat  that  speech  and 
acts  are  the  main,  if  not  the  sole,  dependence  of  the  author 
in  showing   forth   to    the    reader   through    his    imagina- 
tion the  character  of  the  persons  of  whom  he  is  writing. 
I  Therefore,  in  the  story  written  to  emphasize  character, 
[  speech  and-  act  will  be  prominent.    They  will  not,  however, 
be  prominent  for  their  own  sake,  or  for  the  thrill  they 
Imay  be  able  to  communicate  through  directly  exciting  the 
reader,  as  they  are  in  the  story  that  emphasizes  plot.    They 
twill  be  prominent  because  in  and  through  them  the  reader 
beholds  character;  they  are  the  index,  the  outward  symbol, 
j  the  key,  the  manifestation,  the  effect  of  which  character  is 
!  the  cause.    And  as  the  reader,  in  order  to  interpret  them, 
must  be  able  to  translate  the  symbol  into  terms  of  the 
thing  symbolized,  to  judge  accurately  what  the  cause  is 
from  seeing  only  its  results,  so  the  writer  on  his  side  must 
be  able  to  translate  character  into  suitable  symbols  (words 
and  acts)  ;  to  perceive  what  the  true  and  natural  results 
of  any  well-defined  character,  taken  as  the  cause,  would  be, 


52  SHOKT  STOKIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

and  by  depicting  it  through  such  results,  or  symbols, — the 
acts  and  speech  of  the  persons, — make  it  apparent  to 
the  reader. 

17.  The  first  task,  therefore,  for  the  writer  of  character 
stories,  is  the  conceiving  of  a  consistent,  and,  of  course, 
true-to-nature  character  for  each  person  in  his  story.     By 
consistent,  we  do  not  mean  a  character  in  which  are  no 
conflicting  elements,  but  a  character  in  which  (whatever 
the  elements   of  conflict)    there  is  no  self-contradiction. 
How  far  the  conflict  between  character  elements  may  go 
without    rendering    the    character    self-contradictory,    is 
shown  by  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde.     Perhaps  we  should 
be  safer  were  we  to  say  merely  that  the  conception  must 
not  seem  to  be  inconsistent,  or  self-contradictory — that  it 
shall  stand  the  test  of  a  sound  plausibility  based  upon 
knowledge  of  man  and  men,  and  a  strict  observance  of 
the  possibilities  of  character  as  thus  discovered.     Charac- 
ters so  conceived  will  be  true  to  life,  and  will  accordingly 
stand  every  test.    We  have,  therefore,  arrived  at  the  point, 
to   wrhich  we   shall    always    find  ourselves   returning,    at 
which  we  must  recognize  the  fundamental  importance  of 
observing  men  and  the  ways  of  men  and  the  influences  that 
determine  these  ways — in  other  words,  the  importance  of 
being  familiar  with  character  in  detail.     To  write  good 
fiction,  one  must  know  man  and  men,  human  nature  and 
temperament ;  and  to  know  these,  he  must  have  been  a  close 
observer  of  men  in  their  activities. 

18.  Moreover,  this  knowledge  must  be  practical,  not 
theoretical.      This    assertion    needs    to    be    emphasized. 
Many  writers — young  writers  of  a  scholarly  turn  especially 
— think  that  if  they  read  books  and  gain  an  understanding 
of  the  elements  of  human  nature  as  these  are  revealed  in 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  53 

poetry,  fiction,  history,  or  the  like,  they  have  qualified 
themselves  for  their  work  as  writers.  They  are  wrong. 
The  writer  of  drama  and  dramatic  fiction  narrative  must 
know  men.  He  must  have  seen  human  life  living  itself 
in  the  lives  of  many  individual  men.  He  must  know  men 
so  well  that  the  human  nature  and  the  temperament  in 
every  individual  will  distinctly  separate  themselves  to  his 
understanding.  He  must  know  not  only  the  types  of  men, 
but  the  individual  variations  that  occur  within  the  type. 
He  must  know  what  are  the  type  actions  that  go  with  the 
standard  instincts  and  emotions — but  he  must  also  know 
how  these  type  actions  are  changed  or  modified  in  the 
individual.  And  all  these  things  should  be  so  familiar  to 
him  that,  the  moment  he  conceives  a  person  of  a  certain 
type,  he  will  be  aware  what  that  type  of  person  will  do 
in  a  given  set  of  circumstances;  and  beyond  that,  what 
this  one  person  he  has  conceived — an  individual  having 
his  own  character,  made  up  of  human  nature  modified  by 
temperament — would  do  in  the  same  set  of  circumstances ; 
for  in  the  action  of  the  individual  will  always  be  some 
degree  of  individuality,  and  the  writer  who  knows  men 
should  from  his  knowledge  realize  instinctively  what  this 
individuality  of  conduct  and  speech  will  be.  So  intimate, 
so  closely  accurate,  so  extensive,  so  sure,  should  be  the 
fiction  writer's  knowledge,  not  merely  of  man,  but  of  men. 
He  can  never  become  perfect  in  it,  yet  he  should  never 
cease  to  perfect  himself  in  it.  And  for  this  there  is  but 
one  way — that  of  meeting  and  dealing  with  men  closely 
and  constantly. 

19.  To  the  writer  of  contes  in  which  character  is  em- 
phasized, such  extreme  familiarity  with  men  is  indispen- 
sable. For  since  he  must  make  the  words  and  acts  of  each 


54  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

person  clearly  spring  from  and  reveal  the  character  of  the 
person,  he  must  know,  even  to  the  littlest,  the  words  that 
men  use,  the  tones  in  which  they  speak  them,  the  gestures 
they  employ  and  the  occasions  on  which  they  employ  each, 
the  decisions — instinctive  or  reasoned — to  which  they 
come,  the  way  they  behave  while  coming  to  them,  and  their 
manner  of  acting  (each  according  to  his  own  character) 
in  accordance  with  their  decisions.  To  make  the  character 
story  convincing,  all  such  things  must  be  set  down,  and  set 
down  as  they  would  be  were  the  story  a  fact  and  not  a 
fiction  story,  For  if  they  are  not  set  down  as  they  would 
be  in  life,  the  reader  will  feel  the  incongruity,  even  if  he 
cannot  name  it;  and  both  story  and  character  will  disap- 
point him.  Hence  the  chief  study  of  the  writer  of  charac- 
ter stories  must  be,  how  to  set  forth  a  varied  body  of 
speech  and  act  that  shall  clearly  reveal  character,  the 
character  itself  being  consistent  and  true  to  life — to  human 
nature,  to  class-type,  and  to  the  individual. 

XL    SOME  CONTES  EMPHASIZE  ATMOSPHERE 

1.  Last  of  the  four  possible  types  of  short  story  that  are 
produced  by  laying  emphasis  especially  upon  a  particular 
element,  or  factor,  of  fiction  narrative,  we  name  the  type 
that  emphasizes  atmosphere.  But  in  giving  the  atmos- 
phere story  the  last  place,  we  are  making  it  neither  the 
least  nor  the  greatest  among  these  types.  For  the  conte 
has  its  masterpieces  of  plot  story,  of  theme  story,  of 
character  story,  and  of  atmosphere  story ;  and  if  we  raise 
the  question  of  comparative  merit,  we  are  likely  to  be 
forced,  on  consideration,  to  dodge  it,  answering  that  the 
greatest  of  short  stories  is  not  to  be  found  in  any  one  of 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  55 

these  special  types  as  such,  but  in  that  conte  which  com- 
bines all  these  elements  according  to  its  needs,  attaining 
its  effect  by  a  presentation  of  life  through  the  artistic 
union  of  all  the  four. 

2.  Nevertheless,  considering  as  we  are  for  the  present 
the  emphasis  of  particular  elements  in  individual  stories, 
we  must  in  fairness  set  down,  that  the  atmosphere  story 
is  often  tremendously  effective.      As  some  of  the  most 
wonderful  of  modern  paintmgs  are  those  that  have  caught 
the  atmosphere  of  the  desert,  the  plains,  or  the  sea,  so  some 
of  the  most  wonderful  novels  and  contes  of  our  day  are 
those  that  have  caught  the   atmosphere  rather  than  the 
details  of  phases  of  life — the  spirit  and  essence  of  some 
environment  in  which  life  is  lived  significantly. 

3.  Of  the  four  elements  of  fiction  narrative  that  we  are 
considering, — theme,    plot,    character,    and   atmosphere- — 
atmosphere  is  the  hardest  exactly  to  define;  for  it  is  not, 
like  the  others,  reducible  to  a  process,  a  formula,  or  a 
method,  but  is  that  more  delicately  impalpable  thing,  a 
subjective  quality  to  be  sensed  or  an  emotional  impression 
to  be  received.     Therefore  we  can,  before  formulating^ 
definition,  profitably  consider  the  thing  itself  somewhat. 

4.  Atmosphere  we  may  describe  as  the  quality  felt  in  a 
story  or  drama,  through  the  impression  created  by  setting, 
mood,  character,  action,  theme,  incident,  persons,  personal- 
ity  (either  that  of  the  author  or  of  the  persons  in  the 
story),  tone,  and  so  on.    Or  we  may  call  it  the  source  of  the 
total  subjective  impression  left  by  the  combined  influence 
of  all  the  elements,  accompaniments,  and  surroundings  of 
viewpoint,  characters,  action,  and  scene.     The  atmosphere 
of  a  story  is  the  encompassing  medium  in  which  the  nar- 
rative exists  and  moves.     It  is  the  psychological  medium, 


56  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

as  the  physical  atmosphere,  with  all  its  attributes  of  light, 
warmth,  translucence,  rarity  or  density,  color,  stimulation 
or  depression,  clearness,  heaviness,  purity,  etc.,  is  the 
purely  physical  medium  in  which  animal  life  exists  and 
moves.  Or  it  may  be  described  as  the  sum  total  of 
environment,  psychological  and  physical,  as  the  habitat  of 
an  animal,  with  its  peculiar  set  of  physical,  vegetable, 
geographic,  climatic,  animal,  and  animal-nature,  condi- 
tions, constitutes  the  total  of  the  environment  of  that 
animal. 

5.  Atmosphere  is,  then,  the  total  psychological, 
emotional,  or  tonal  environment  wherein  character  and 
action  present  themselves  subjectively  to  the  reader,20  to 

20  The  test  of  atmosphere  is  the  presence  of  a  quality  in  the 
narrative  itself,  permeative  and  intangible  rather  than  explicit  and 
loeable.  Upon  further  analysis,  we  should  find  that  this  impression 
of  atmosphere  depends  on  either  or  both  of  two  qualities:  first, 
the  quality  of  place,  environment,  and  determining  conditions; 
second,  the  quality  of  mood.  The  first  gives  a  sense  of  the  milieu 
and  circumstances;  the  second  gives  a  sense  of  the  tone — of  the 
emotional  quality  and  nature — belonging  to  the  story,  its  persons 
or  events.  Roughly,  the  one  is  material,  physical,  or  social,  the 
other  immaterial  and  psychological — the  one  perceived  as  external 
fact,  the  other  as  internal  fact.  But  almost  always  they  exist  to- 
gether. The  effect  of  either  is  always  mainly  emotional — that  is, 
subjective.  Hence  our  discussion  of  atmosphere  has  not  attempted  to 
separate  them. — Let  the  student  compare  a  mood  story  with  a  story 
of  setting  (realized  best  in  the  local-color  story).  Mrs.  Wharton's 
Ethan  Frome  is  pre-eminently  a  mood  story;  Harris  Dickson's 
stories  of  negro  life  (Saturday  Evening  Post)  are  local  color  stories — 
almost  any  of  the  "  Old  Reliable  "  series  will  serve,  as  will  most  of 
Bret  Harte's  California  stories,  Mrs.  Freeman's  stories  of  New 
England,  etc.  Yet  all  such  stories  will  reveal  that  (except  when 
the  setting  is  described  merely  for  objective  interest),  the  introduc- 
tion of  an  element  of  milieu  or  conditioning  circumstance  affects 
mainly  the  mood  of  the  reader,  thus  giving  him  the  impression  of 
subjective  tone  or  coloring  in  the  story.  We  "  sense  "  the  tone  and 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  57 

create  which,  every  artistic  element  unites  which  is  capable 
of  producing  through  literary  means  the  impression  of  a 
physical  sensation  or  a  perception  of  mood,  or  of  moral, 
spiritual,  ethical  or  esthetic  quality,  or  tone,  thereby  pro- 
ducing a  sense  of  subjective  quality.  To  phrase  the 
thought  in  yet  another  way,  atmosphere  is  the  consequence 
of  bringing  to  bear  upon  the  reader  the  full  power  of 
subjective  impression  exerted  through  any  sort  of  literary 
or  dramatic  device:  its  purpose  being,  to  put  him  into 
complete  emotional  understanding  or  rapport  (responsive- 
ness and  sympathy)  with  the  various  elements  of  the 
story.  It  thus  enables  him  both  to  perceive  the  external 
quality  and  to  feel  the  internal  quality  and  spirit — ac- 
curately and  truly,  because  he  feels  not  only  the  thing 
itself,  but  also  the  conditions  and  surroundings  which  are 
a  part  of  it  and  of  which  it  is  a  part. 

6.  From  this  preliminary  description  of  atmosphere, 
let  us  now  formulate  a  working  definition.  Atmosphere  is 
that  subjective  quality  in  a  story  resulting  from  highly 
characteristic  elements,  or  accompaniments,  conditions,  and 
surroundings,  of  the  setting,  persons,  character  traits,  and 
action;  by  virtue  of  which  the  persons,  incidents,  character, 
and  action  are  seen  in  a  medium  of  natural  and  significant 
psychological,  tonal,  or  emotional  environment  of  which 
they  are  a  necessary  part  and  which  is  a  necessary  part 
of  them.  Condensing  this,  we  may  say  that  atmosphere  is 

quality  of  a  scene  rather  than  perceive  it  merely.  Stevenson's  The 
Merry  Men;  Hamlin  Garland's  early  western  stories  (as  in  Main 
Traveled  Roads),  Poe's  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher — these  are 
merely  a  few  of  the  stories  that  owe  their  subjective  effect,  or 
emotional  impression,  mainly  to  the  combined  influence  of  environ- 
mental and  mood  elements.  For  in  successful  writing,  the  two  cannot 
be  kept  distinct. 


58 


SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 


that  quality  which  produces  its  effect  on  the  reader  by 
means  of  a  subjective  coloring  of  any  or  all 21  of  the 
elements  of  the  story.  Its  impression  is  made  almost  en- 
tirely on  the  subjective  sensibilities — on  the  emotions— 
and  is  made  in  either  of  two  ways :  first,  by  direct  appeal, 
as  when  the  material  used  itself  is  emotional  and  address 
is  made  outright  to  our  subjective  senses;  second,  by 
indirection,  as  when  such  aspects  of  objective  matters  are 
chosen  for  presentation  as  are  associated  with  subjective 
experiences,  these  aspects  being,  therefore,  sure  to  stimulate 
an  emotional  response  even  though  doing  so  indirectly.22 

21  A  scheme  will  help  to  show  forth  the  fact,  as  follows: 

1.  Objective   facts:    setting,   appearance  of 
persons,  costume,  acts,  deeds,  incidents, 
etc. 

2.  Determining    conditions:     influences    of 
time,    place,    associates,    social    and    in- 
dustrial    environment,    education,     etc., 
etc.,  such  as  affect  character,  behavior, 
deed,  motive,  etc.     These  may  be  either 

(a)  objective  (see  1  above)  or  (b)  sub- 
jective (see  3  below). 

3.  Subjective    facts:    the  relationships,   in- 

fluences, and  reactions  that  pre-emi- 
nently affect  or  belong  to  psychological 
experience — the  inner  life. 

Therefore,  we  may  have  either  objective  atmosphere  or  subjective 
atmosphere — that  productive  of  mood  or  tone.  Further,  the  story 
may  be  so  written  that  its  mood  or  tone  will  be  the  result  of  either 
(a)  its  own  materials  (complete  detachment  on  the  part  of  the 
author),  or  (b)  the  author's  arbitrary  selection  of  details  to  produce 
a  particular  mood  or  tone  determined  by  himself  (author's  mood, 
or  attitude). 

22  From  what  has  been  said,  the  conclusion  follows,  that  the  term 
subjective  coloring  is  a  full  descriptive  synonym  for  atmosphere,  and 
perhaps  even  a  more  accurate  term. 


Subjective        coloring 
will  be  found  inherent  - 
in,    or   can    be    given 
to— 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  59 

7.  Among  the  elements  that  aid  in  creating  atmosphere, 
setting  is  highly  important.     It  is  not  to  be  confounded 
with  atmosphere,  although  the  terms  are  sometimes  used 
synonymously ;  neither  is  it  equal  to  environment.     By 
setting  we  really  mean  the  physical  surroundings — what 
the  stage  manager  would  classify  as  scenery  and  properties. 
Setting  is  objective  and  can  always  be  indicated  by  some 
direct  method  of  description,  although,  of  course,  direct 
description  is  not  necessarily  preferable  to  other  methods 
of   presentation.      Moreover,    the   mere    introduction    of 
description  is  not  enough  to  give  atmosphere,  unless  the 
setting  and  the  description  are  themselves  such  as  to  be 
significant  and  produce  the  artistic  effect  desired. 

8.  Environment — a    larger    term — implies    not    only 
setting,  but  also  all  other  surroundings  and  accompanying 
conditions;  and,  therefore,  it  may  be  psychological  and 
non-objective.    Well  indicated,  environment  is  an  effective 
producer  of  atmosphere — indeed,  is  perhaps  the  main  de- 
pendence in  most  atmosphere  stories.    Among  the  elements 
entering  into   environment   are  time,   place,   occupation, 
moral  and  spiritual  surroundings,  and  (in  general)  what- 
ever accompaniments  of  existence  influence  character  and 
life. 

A.  Time:     Time  may  determine  the  atmosphere  of  a 
story.     Thus,  there  may  be  stories  with  an  atmosphere 
of  war  time  or  of  peace ;  of  particular  historical  periods ; 
of  Christmas,  Memorial  Day,  or  other  holiday;  an  atmos- 
phere appropriate  to  the  night,   to   daytime,  to   spring, 
summer,  fall,  or  winter,  to  sowing  time  or  harvest  time, 
etc. 

B.  Place:  Place  may  determine  the  atmosphere  of  a 
story.     Thus,  there  may  be  stories  with  an  atmosphere 


60  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

of  the  streets,  the  theater,  the  church,  the  home,  the 
amusement-park,  the  city,  the  country,  the  tropics,  the 
school,  the  sea,  the  veldt,  the  plains,  the  jungle,  the  air 
(aeronautical  stories),  etc. 

C.  -  Occupation:    Occupation  may  determine  the  atmos- 
phere of  a  story.     Thus,  there  may  be  stories  with  an 
atmosphere  appropriate  to  medicine,  journalism,  the  law, 
the  ministry;   to  the  life  of  the  day-laborer,   the   iron- 
worker, the  weaver  or  mill-hand,  the  fisherman,  the  soldier 
or  marine,  the  professor,  the  housewife,  the  speculator, 
the  gambler,  the  prostitute,  the  nurse,  the  clerk,  etc. 

D.  Other  Conditions:    Besides  the  influences  such  as 
have  already  been  mentioned,  almost  innumerable  items  or 
elements  of  environment  exist  that  contribute  to  the  im- 
pression of  atmosphere.     Such  for  instance  are  illness  in 
the  household;  educational  influences;  religious  surround- 
ings;   the    character    of    associates;    poverty,    manners, 
personal  tastes  and  habits ;  dress ;  eating ; — in  brief,  what- 
ever can  be  responsible  wholly  or  in  part  for  the  mood, 
tone,  or  other  quality  essential  in  the  life  itself  that  is 
portrayed.     The  introduction  of  such  items  as  material 
for  narration  can  be  so  affected  that  it  will  cause  the 
persons,  incidents,  and  action  to  be  seen  in  an  encompassing 
medium  of  consistent,   natural,   significant  psychological 
environment ;  the  story  will,  in  all  its  parts,  give  evidence 
of  the  close  observation,  adequate  comprehension,  and  full 
power  of  sympathetic  presentation  without  which  it  will 
be    deficient    in    that    indispensable    quality,    subjective 
coloring. 

9.  By  way  of  concrete  illustration,  assume  now  that 
several  clergymen  are  gathered  in  a  vestry  room  to  discuss 
a  religious  crisis.  If  the  material  be  well  handled,  the 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  61 

atmosphere  will  be  an  atmosphere  of  deep  religious  earnest- 
ness, with  clerical  and  personal  manners  seen  in  a  setting 
of  church  surroundings.  Now,  enter  to  the  clergymen 
an  ex-pugilist,  converted  in  a  mission  chapel  but  retaining 
all  the  mannerisms  produced  by  his  breeding  in  the  slums. 
In  the  proceedings  that  follow,  he  is  prominent;  and 
inevitably  his  appearance,  personality,  speech,  and  be- 
havior modify  the  previous  atmosphere.  It  may  be  more 
human;  it  certainly  will  be  less  clerical  and  churchly. 
Further  suppose  that  the  worldly  daughter  of  the  rector,  a 
society  girl,  now  comes  into  the  action.  She  modifies  the 
atmosphere  anew;  her  dress,  her  manners,  her  personality 
and  ideals,  are  all  felt,  subtly  but  surely,  in  a  changed 
quality  in  the  situation.  They  suggest  other  influences  in 
life  than  earnestness  and  religion,  another  outlook  on  life 
— an  outlook  foreign  to  the  clergymen's  and  equally  foreign 
to  the  crudely  earnest  pugilist's.  Or  let  us  assume  a  hos- 
pital ward,  with  nurses  attending  to  their  duties,  and  a 
pickle-faced  martyr  to  her  conception  of  duty  haranguing 
on  the  subject  of  his  soul  an  unfortunate  nephew,  occupa- 
tionally  a  ball-player,  laid  up  in  one  of  the  beds.  Merely 
to  suggest  such  a  combination  of  time,  place,  persons,  and 
character,  gives  an  impression  of  atmosphere — an  atmos- 
phere individual  and  distinct.  Then  suddenly  remove  the 
maiden  lady  and  in  her  place  substitute  a  member  of  the 
invalid's  team,  airy,  jovial,  confident,  and  hearty.  Presto ! 
the  atmosphere  is  vitally  changed. 

10.  Or  again,  let  us  assume  a  tenement  house  in  the 
city.  The  halls  reek  with  the  smell  of  cabbage,  corned 
beef,  and  onion.  Doors  stand  indecorously  ajar,  display- 
ing glimpses  of  disordered  rooms,  scattered  garments,  old 
brooms,  boxes,  slouchy  women,  and  dirty  shouting  chil- 


62  SHOKT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

dren.  Is  not  here  an  atmosphere  of  shiftlessness  or  in- 
competence? But  add  now  some  laughter  and  broad 
repartee.  An  impression  of  the  element  of  irresponsible 
happiness  supersedes  the  previous  impression  of  shift- 
lessness. Then  let  the  rent-collector  and  an  officer  ap- 
pear, with  dispossess  writs  against  one  of  the  tenants; 
laughter  gives  way  to  grief,  and  neighborly  merriment 
to  neighborly  sympathy.  Yet  again,  suppose  the  author  to 
conceive  a  story  of  village  life,  in  which  the  selfish  per- 
sistence of  one  man  in  keepiiig  pigs  produces  unsanitary 
conditions  from  which  an  epidemic  starts,  causing  the 
death  of  several  neighbors'  children.  The  author,  tak- 
ing this  theme  seriously,  turns  out  a  story  the  atmosphere 
of  which  is  heavy  with  selfishness  and  tragedy.  And 
then  suppose  that  he  conceives  his  theme  lightly  instead 
of  tragically,  constructing  a  story  in  which  neighborhood 
pigs,  neighborhood  rows,  and  simon-pure  human  nature 
supply  a  farcical  narrative.  The  atmosphere  is  now 
quite  changed.  In  these  two  instances,  it  is  the  author's 
viewpoint  that  determined  what  the  atmosphere — and 
therefore  the  subjective  effect  on  the  reader — would  be. 
Illustration  could  be  continued  indefinitely,  but  the  fact 
is  already  manifest.  Anything  whatever  that,  whether 
by  outright  assertion  or  by  reactive  suggestion,  serves  to 
produce  a  subjective  impression,  to  create  the  illusion 
of  psychological  quality,  is  atmosphere  material. 

11.  Atmosphere,  we  said,  is  hard  to  define.  The  at- 
mosphere story  is  hard  to  write — successfully.  It  is  the 
work  of  the  highly  skilled ;  for  atmosphere  is  the  fine  flavor 
of  literary  and  dramatic  ingredients  blended  by  a  master. 
A  writer  may  be  able  to  develop  a  theme,  construct  and 
manage  a  plot,  and  portray  a  character  successfully,  and 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  63 

yet  fall  short  of  attaining  true,  or  natural,  or  satisfying 
atmosphere. 

12.  For   atmosphere   is   the  product   of  high   artistic 
gift  rather  than  of  immediate  effort.     Before  there  can 
be   atmosphere   there   must   be   sharp   and   deep   insight, 
catholic  sympathy,  and  almost  universal  observation';  and 
these  must  be  accompanied  by  great  powers  of  accurate 
literary     expression.      Without     this     observation,     this 
knowledge  of  one's  material  in  all  its  aspects,  this  under- 
standing and  sympathy,  or  without  the  literary  gift  that 
enables  one  to  give  to  others,  through  words,  a  realization 
of  things   as   they   have   revealed   themselves   to   him, — 
without  these,  there  can  be  no  fine  exhalation  of  the  inner 
nature  of  personality,  surroundings,  incident,  and  action 
into   the   illuminating,   clarifying,   softening,   individual- 
izing,  naturalizing,    humanizing   quality    that   we   term 
atmosphere. 

13.  Of  which  comment,   the  moral   is   this:     Before 
attacking  the  atmosphere  story,  master  theme,  plot,  and  / 
characterization;  learn  nature,  human  nature,  and  men; 
acquire  the  habit  of  observing  with  all  the  minute  care  of 
the  scientist  and   all  the   sympathetic  understanding  of 
the  artist ;  and  develop  a  master's  skill  in  exact  words. 
When  this  has  been  done — when  you  can  report  the  thing 
as  in  itself  it  really  is — you  will  not  have  to  strive  for 
atmosphere.     The  atmosphere  will  create  itself  for  you, 
secured  surely  and  accurately  through  the   truthfulness 
of  your  report. 

14.  The  student  may  feel  some  confusion  about  the 
relationship  between  atmosphere,  as  here  defined,  and  the 
emotional  appeal,  frequently  spoken  of  in  discussions  of 
fiction.     The  terms  merely  name  different  aspects  of  the 


64:  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

same  thing.  Atmosphere  is  a  quality  possessed  by  and 
permeating  the  story,  and  inherent  in  its  parts  and  ma- 
terials. Then,  having  atmosphere,  it  has  emotional  ap- 
peal— is  able  to  set  up  in  the  reader  a  subjective,  or  emo- 
tional, response  to  its  own  subjective,  or  emotional,  qual- 
ity. The  one  is  cause;  the  other  is  effect.  As  we  have 
noted,  any  and  every  element  of  the  narrative  may  and 
usually  does  have,  in  some  degree,  subjective  coloring, 
or  emotional  quality.  It  follows  that  every  part  and 
portion  of  the  narrative  may  have  emotional  appeal  (sub- 
jective stimulus).  One  well-chosen  word,  expressing  a 
clearly-sensed  feeling  of  the  author  for  some  inherent 
quality  or  mood  of  the  situation,  the  person,  the  charac- 
ter, the  scene,  the  environment,  the  act,  may  tinge  or 
dye  all  the  story  with  this  same  quality  or  mood.  Emo- 
tional appeal  (or  subjective  stimulus),  therefore,  depends 
upon  subjective  coloring,  i.e.,  atmosphere;  and  atmosphere 
depends  upon  the  fineness  of  sense  with  which  the  writer 
feels  the  manifold  qualities  of  his  materials  and  the  ef- 
fectiveness with  which  he  is  able  to  translate  these  quali- 
ties into  the  words  with  which  he  reports  the  story. 

15.  Ultimately,  then,  atmosphere  and  subjective  effect 
depend  upon  the  author — first,  upon  the  fineness,  the 
sympathy,  the  comprehending  power  of  his  understanding 
and  interpreting  imagination,  enabling  him  to  put  himself 
in  every  situation  and  in  the  place  of  every  person  in 
every  situation,  sensing  deeply  and  truly  the  essential 
qualities  inherent  in  them ;  and  second,  upon  his  well- 
considered  selection  of  the  particular  qualities  to  be  em- 
phasized and  intensified  for  the  purposes  of  the  story.  We 
shall  see  (XVIII.  3)  that  the  story  may  be  told  from 
either  of  three  main  angles  of  view — as  if  it  were  nar- 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  65 

rated  by  (a)  an  actor  in  it,  (b)  an  observer  merely,  or 
(c)  a  person  completely  dissociated  from  its  events  in 
every  way — and  that  the  author  cannot  get  far  in  plan- 
ning his  story  until  he  has  decided  which  of  these  angles 
of  view  he  will  adopt  for  his  narration.  We  must  now 
note  also  that  his  attitude  of  sympathy  and  emotion  as 
well  as  his  angle  of  narration  will  mightily  affect  the 
quality  discernible  in  his  story.  It  determines  the  in- 
herent quality  by  determining  the  particular  aspects  of 
the  materials  which  he  shall  select  and  the  particular 
qualities  in  these  aspects  that  he  shall,  by  means  of  his 
treatment  and  expression,  intensify  and  make  dominant 
in  the  narrative.  He  may  elect  to  be  sentimental  in  at- 
titude; in  which  case  he  will  select  incidents,  settings, 
acts,  character  traits,  speeches,  and  situations,  that  are 
predominantly  sentimental.  He  may  elect  to  be  pathetic ; 
in  which  case  it  will  be  the  quality  of  pathos  that  he  will 
seek  in  his  selection  of  materials  and  his  manner  of  treat- 
ment and  expression.  Or  he  may  elect  to  intensify  pathos 
into  tragedy,  or  to  assume  a  humorous 23  attitude ;  his 
choice  of  materials,  of  treatment,  and  of  expression  always 
varying  according  to  the  requirements,  of  this  attitude. 

16.  The  attitude,  therefore,  or  subjective  point  of 
view,  assumed  by  the  author  toward  his  story,  is  what 
determines  its  emotional  appeal,  or  subjective  quality; 

28  The  effect  of  the  conte  always  tending  to  be  in  the  main 
emotional,  humor  is  suitable  to  it,  but  wit  less  so;  wit  being  less 
emotional  than  intellectual  in  quality.  The  guises  in  which  humor 
appear  are:  (a)  permeative — dispersed  throughout  the  story,  re- 
gardless of  its  particular  form  or  type;  (b)  comedy;  (c)  farce 
comedy;  (d)  burlesque.  The  presence  of  wit  in  dominating  quantity 
tends  to  produce  rather  comedy  of  satire  and  irony  than  comedy  of 
humor. 


66  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

and  it  determines  this  by  determining  the  selection  of 
materials  to  be  incorporated  in  the  story  as  a  means  of 
provoking  in  the  reader  a  subjective  response  to  the 
feeling  of  the  author — of  putting  him  into  a  subjective 
attitude  corresponding  to  that  assumed  by  the  author.  A 
word  more,  then,  may  be  worth  while  about  the  means 
available  for  communicating  this  feeling,  and  provoking 
this  attitude.  The  sense  of  the  subjective  coloring,  of  the 
emotional  quality,  is  communicated,  first,  by  the  ma- 
terials themselves,  and  second,  by  the  language  chosen 
with  which  to  report  them.  The  two  means  are  of  course 
always  co-workers.  But  in  the  work  of  the  inexperienced 
and  the  artificial  writer,  too  much  dependence  on  words 
and  too  little  upon  materials  are  often  found;  they  de- 
pend on  words,  not  facts,  for  effect.  Yet  the  words  can 
produce  their  effect  only  when  they  are  fully  adapted  to 
the  thought  and  emotion — only  when  they  adequately  and 
truly  report  the  facts  to  express  which  they  have  been  as- 
sembled. Hence  words  merely,  unbacked  by  feeling,  are 
futile.  The  subjective  quality  must  exist  in  the  materials 
before  words  can  be  chosen  fitly  to  embody,  express,  and 
communicate  it.  Yet  the  number  of  writers  who  depend 
on  words  instead  of  materials  for  subjective  effect,  is 
legion. 

17.  The  selection  of  materials,  therefore,  wherein  the 
subjective  quality  is  inherent — of  materials  that  are  sig- 
nificant of  subjective  quality  and  mood — is  imperative. 
This  selection  well  made,  the  adapting  of  the  language  to 
the  material  may  call  for  either  of  two  procedures :  cutting 
down  the  number  of  words,  or  increasing  the  number  of 
words,  i.e.,  using  more  words  with  a  view  to  the  full  com- 
munication of  a  sense  of  the  subjective  quality.  Words 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  67 

are  to  be  increased  when  the  fads  themselves,  less  fully 
reported,  will  not  sufficiently  or  certainly  carry  the  effect 
of  emotional  quality.  The  author  then  employs  epithets, 
descriptive  phrases,  and  other  quality-  or  mood-suggest- 
ing expressions — either  denotative  or  connotative — in 
order  that  an  adequate  sense  of  the  particular  subjective 
quality  may  be  aroused  in  the  reader.  Words  are  so  used 
in  the  sentence,  "  Her  vestal  mannerisms  and  her  too 
knowledgeable  manner,  as  if  she  were  overripe  from  mani- 
fold experiences  of  the  world.  .  .  ." 

18.  On  the  other  hand,  some  facts  and  situations  are  so 
great  and  fundamental  as  to  imply,  without  comment  or 
addition,  the  quality  or  mood  inherent  in  them.  They 
make  their  emotional  appeal  simply,  directly,  and  un- 
aided. The  power  and  adequacy  of  the  simple  assertion, 
"  Jesus  wept,"  has  been  noted  endlessly  as  an  example. 
In  dealing  with  such  self-interpreting  facts  and  situa- 
tions, the  superb  economy  of  speech  often  characteristic 
of  the  Bible  is  advisable.  To  be  sure,  every  situation  is  a 
new  situation,  and  therefore  a  rule  unto  itself;  but  no 
situation  that  is  intrinsically  emotional  calls  for  much 
verbal  exploitation.  Such  situations  are  those  that  most 
depend  upon  the  primal,  basic  instincts  and  emotions  of 
man;  whereas  those  that  depend  upon  less  universal  facts 
for  their  subjective  quality  may  need  interpretation. 
When,  therefore,  subjective  effects  are  involved  that  de- 
pend upon  acquired  emotions,  ideals,  or  points  of  view,24 
fuller  characterization  is  necessary;  for  the  quality  of 
these  is  at  once  more  diverse  and  less  familiar  to  general 

24  Such  emotions,  ideals,  and  points  of  view,  for  instance,  as 
result  from  education;  trom  sophistication;  from  economic  and  social 
status;  from  the  refining  influences  of  culture,  etc. 


68  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

experience.  Comparatively  few  words  (for  instance)  are 
likely  to  be  needed  in  conveying  the  emotional  quality 
of  a  scene  in  which  father  and  mother  stand  by  the  death- 
bed of  their  first-born;  the  situation  carries  and  com- 
municates its  own  emotion.  But  writers  have  not  un- 
happily expended  pages  in  bodying  forth  the  feelings  of 
Penrod  the  grammar-school  boy  in  some  of  the  juvenile 
crises  of  life.  The  less  obvious,  the  less  familiar  to 
general  experience,  the  less  an  outcome  of  universal  fact, 
the  subjective  quality  is,  the  more  likely  it  is  to  require 
fuller  word-portrayal;  the  more  it  depends  on  universal 
fact,  the  more  familiar  it  is  to  general  experience,  the  less 
it  will  require  multiplication  of  words  to  procure  it 
comprehension  and  provoke  response. 

19.  With  some  more  general  explanation,  we  can  now 
close  this  part  of  our  discussion.  As  the  story  must  have 
emotional,  or  subjective,  quality,  and  as  the  quality  pre- 
sented must  be  true,  the  author  must,  to  produce  the  es- 
sential subjective  coloring,  have  himself  felt  and  com- 
prehended the  feeling  that  he  attempts  to  embody  in  his 
story.  The  more  deeply  and  widely  he  has  felt,  therefore, 
the  more  will  he  be  able  to  find  in  life,  and  to  reproduce 
in  his  work,  the  essential  elements  of  emotion.  To  have 
lived,  to  have  loved,  to  have  laughed,  to  have  wept,  and 
through  accumulated  experience  to  have  ripened — this 
seems  the  logical  preparation  for  the  highest  effectiveness 
in  creating  stories  that  will  have  emotional  appeal — 
especially  so  in  stories  dealing  with  the  more  serious 
aspects  of  life.  True,  the  exuberant,  fancy  and  spirits 
of  youth  make  up  to  some  extent  for  unripeness  and  in- 
experience— but  not  when  the  deepest  meanings  of  exist- 
ence are  to  be  interpreted.  Youthfulness  of  spirit  need 


THEORY  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY  TYPE  69 

not  end  with  the  early  years  of  manhood;  rightly  con- 
served, emotion  strengthens  and  intensifies  itself,  not 
thins  and  perishes;  and  he  can  best  portray  life  who 
through  maturity  of  thought  and  feeling — through  long 
experience — has  most  perfected  his  knowledge  of  life. 

20.  But  experience  may  produce,  not  ripeness,  but 
that  false  maturity,  sophistication.  Better  the  green  but 
vital  imagination  of  youth  than  the  mature  but  sophis- 
ticated indifference  and  cynicism  of  years.  For  deep, 
spontaneous,  and  natural  emotion  is  not  to  be  felt  in 
sophistication.  Neither  is  the  sophistication  belonging  to 
a  class,  society,  or  age,  to  be  permitted  to  pass  its  conven- 
tions and  attitudes  off  in  the  place  of  true  emotion.  These 
things  abound  in  subjective  quality  material,  but  are 
jiever  to  be  mistaken  for  or  presented  as  true  emotion,  and 
the  author  must  preserve  an  attitude  toward  them  that 
will  result  in  showing  them  forth  for  what  they  are,  not 
for  the  things  they  falsely  assume  to  be.  Before  the  deep 
as  well  as  true  emotion  can  be  portrayed,  the  accidental 
must  be  stripped  away,25  and  when  persons  who  have  be- 
come sophisticated,  over-refined,  or  corrupted  to  a  false 
conception  of  men  and  life, — when  such  persons  are  to 
be  presented  as  feeling  true  emotion,  they  must  first  be 
brought  back  ruthlessly  to  their  primitive  human  nature. 
This  can  be  accomplished  only  by  subjecting  them  to  the 
humanizing  influence  of  events  that  strike  with  brutal 
primal  directness  at  the  roots  of  their  pride,  pretense, 

25  In  such  cases,  the  value  of  the  "  foil " — the  character  or  situa- 
tion that  offsets  and  contrasts  with  another — is  great.  The  effect 
of  presenting  sham,  convention,  and  pinchbeck  emotion  in  contrast 
with  the  true  emotion,  is  often  tremendous.  Consider  the  Maid  of 
Orleans,  in  her  sincerity  and  devout  unselfishness  a  foil  to  all 
the  court  of  France,  and  of  England  also. 


70  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

prejudice,  ignorance,  and  self-complacency.  And  to  be 
able  thus  to  discriminate  between  the  true  and  the  false, 
between  perverted  and  fundamental  human  character,  the 
I  author  must  devoutly  have  preserved  himself  from  false 
culture,  false  refinement,  false  pride,  and  false  wisdom 
— which  is  sophistication  and  black  ignorance.  To  see 
and  to  understand  all  things  in  all  men — this  must  be 
his  aim  and  achievement. 

21.  Yet  truth  compels  the  acknowledgment  that  an  t 
emotional  appeal  is  sometimes  made — at  least  with  tem- 
porary success — by  artificial  stimuli,  not  by  the  legiti- 
mate method  of  reporting  with  accuracy  the  thing  together 
with  its  natural  accompaniment  of  subjective  quality.  It 
is  possible  to  heap  up  pitiful  details  excessively — to  portray 
emotion  where  none  is  present — to  play  on  the  feelings 
falsely — to  get  a  burst  of  tears  or  a  burst  of  laughter 
under  "  false  pretenses."  Bad  practice,  this,  bad  art, 
and  bad  artistic  morals,  the  only  temptation  to  which 
will  perhaps  be,  the  chance  to  sell  to  editors  whose  readers 
have  a  perverted  taste  and  small  artistic  judgment. 
Whether  rtis  better  thus  to  sell,  perchance  to  thrive,  or  to 
withstand  the  darts  and  slings  of  editorial  rejections, 
keeping  thereby  one's  artistic  self-respect — that  is  the 
question.  Let  him  who  writes  solve  it,  remembering  that 
such  editors  do  not  represent  all  the  market  for  literary 
wares;  remembering,  too,  that  the  conscience  too  long 
accustomed  to  light  behavior  presently  loses  much  of  its 
sense  of  differences.  Literary  creativeness  may  fly  out 
of  the  window  when  literary  charlatanism  comes  in  at 
the  door. 


CHAPTER  II 
THEORY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT 

XII.    THE  SHOET  STORY  PLOT  MUCH  RESEMBLES  THAT 
OF  THE  ONE-ACT  PLAY 

1.  The  conte  is  a  one-act  play  narrated,  not  acted.    On 
the  whole,  this  is  so  nearly  true  that  we  can  take  the 
play,  especially  the  one-act  play,  as  a  guide  to  most  of 
the  short  story  principles  that  are  dramatic,  not  narrative, 
in  their  essentials.     The  principles  of  dramatic  plot  are 
especially  available.     If  not  all  of  them  can  be  appro- 
priated bodily  by  short  stojy^  art,  those  that  cannot  be  ap- 
propriated can  nevertheless  be  profitably  studied  by  it. 

2.  What  then  ar^  the  essentials  of  a  dramatic  plot  ? 
They  are : 

A.  Persons  acting. 

B.  Persons  acting  in  accordance  with,  or  else  (under 
the   stress   of  conflict  and   situation)    contrary  to  their 
previous  character. 

C.  Things  happening  or  done    (acts   and  incidents), 
these  things  constituting  an  interlocking  series  ending  in 
a  conclusive  outcome. 

D.  The  things  that  are  done  resulting  from  the  char- 
acter of  the  persons  plus  the  situation  (the  sense  of  the 
word  here  is  both  general  and  specific). 

E.  These  things  reacting  on  the  persons  in  some  such 
way  as  to  seem  likely  to  affect  their  future   (especially 

71 


72  SHOKT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

as  determined  by  their  character.  This  will  be  shown  in 
the  outcome,  in  which  the  character  will  be  seen  either  to 
persist  unchanged  after  passage  through  a  crisis,  or  else 
to  have  been  altered  in  some  respect  as  the  result  of  pass- 
ing through  the  crisis). 

F.  A  set  of  conditions  or  influences,  whether  the  re- 
sult of  character  or  of  circumstances,  that  affect  the  per- 
sons and  are  in  opposition  some  to  the  others ;  this  con- 
trary pull  or  push  of  influences  rendering  the  outcome 
uncertain  and  thereby  constituting  the  complication  in  the 
plot,  this  in  turn  creating  the  conflict  and  consequently 
the  crisis. 

3.  Again,  regarding  the  plot  as  an  interlocking  series  of 
events  culminating  in  a  definite  outcome,  we  shall  find  in  it 
these  fundamental  elements,  or  constructional  materials: 

A.  .  Motive,  motivation :    The  reason,  or  causes,  of  the 
things  happening  or  done.     These  causes  will  lie  in  char- 
acter, or  in  the  circumstances,  or  (usually)  in  character 
and  the  circumstances  reacting  on  each  other. 

B.  Action:     The  things  that  happen  or  are  done — 
acts  and  incidents  (see  Sec.  IX,  4)  proceeding  toward  the 
outcome. 

C.  Outcome:     The  fulfillment,  or  issue  of  the  action 
under  the  influence  of  the  motivating  causes.1 

4.  Every  plot  must  have  a  beginning,  a  middle,  and  an 
end;  that  is,  the  matters  that  precipitate  the  action,  the 
progress  and  development  of  the  action  and  situation,  and 
the  conclusive  outcome  of  the  action  as  this  action  is  in- 

1  The  technical  term  catastrophe  is  so  often  associated  merely  with 
tragedy  and  tragic  outcome  that  it  becomes  confusing  when  used 
to  designate  outcomes  that  are  not  tragic.  Denouement  likewise  is 
confusing  and  ambiguous.  Therefore,  the  simpler  term  outcome  is 
employed. 


THEOKY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT  73 

fluenced  by  the  attendant  circumstances.  The  beginning 
is  that  portion  of  the  plot-facts  which  makes  plain  to  us 
enough  of  the  character  traits  and  circumstances  in- 
volved to  enable  us  to  understand  the  action.  The  end- 
ing is  that  part  which  brings  the  outcome  and  its  conse- 
quences. The  middle  includes  all  the  plot-facts  not  be- 
longing to  the  beginning  or  the  end — the  main  course  of 
action,  the  main  body  of  incident  and  event,  the  main  part 
of  the  characterization,  and  (usually)  the  main  portion 
of  the  atmosphere  effects. 

5.  At  this  point  we  should  make  note  of  the  difference 
between  the  order  of  events  and  incidents  in  the  plot,  as 
the  plot  is  conceived  to  support  the  action  and  outcome 
(that  is,  as  an  abstract,  or  outline,  of  motivating  causes 
and  events),  and  the  order  of  events  and  incidents  as 
they  may  present  themselves  in  the  completed  drama  or , 
story.  In  the  plot  abstract,  everything  must  come  in  the 
natural  order — cause  before  effect  and  motive  before  deed. 
Unless  this  order  were  followed,  logical  plotting  would  not 
be  possible.  But  in  the  play  or  story  that  is  built  on  the 
plot  so  conceived,  this  order  is  subject  to  free  manipula- 
tion. The  deed  may  be  shown  before  its  motive  is  re- 
vealed, the  effect  become  apparent  before  its  cause.  This 
is  here  equivalent  to  saying  that  the  opening  of  a  play  or 
story  does  not  of  necessity  contain  the  material  that 
actually  constitutes  the  beginning  of  the  plot,  and  that 
other  variations  also  of  the  natural  sequence  may  occur. 
This  fact  is  mentioned  at  this  time  merely  that  the 
student  shall  not  be  left  to  think  that  the  beginning  of 
the  story  necessarily  is  identical  in  content  with  the  be- 
ginning of  the  plot.  Let  us  therefore  return  to  con- 
sideration of  the  plot. 


74  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

6.    Technically,  the  plot  consists  of  several  divisions, 
representing  stages  of  progress,  namely: 

A.  The  EXPOSITION,  or  stage  of  introductory  explana- 
tion.    This  ends  with  the  exciting  moment,  or  inciting 
impulse — the  moment  at  which  the  complicating  influences 
first  appear  and  the  conflict  begins  to  reveal  itself. 

B.  'The  RISING  ACTION,  or  critical  period.    This  begins 
with  the  inciting  impulse,  or  moment,  and  continues,  often 
by  successive  stages  of  increasing  power  or  intensity,  to 
the  decisive  moment.     This  point — that  at  which  the  out- 
come is,   by  the  progress   of  events,  made  now   sure — 
should  when  possible  coincide  with  the   so-called  grand 
climax,  height,  or  climactic  moment.     The  climactic  mo- 
ment, as  usually  defined,  is  the  moment  when  the  sus- 
pense is  greatest,  and  therefore  the  interest  most  tense ;  it 
is    frequently,    though   confusingly,    termed   the    climax. 
But  in  truth  the  decisive  moment,  not  the  so-called  height 
or  grand  climax,  marks  the  end  of  the  development  and 
the  beginning  of  the  falling  action;  for  this  moment  is 
that  at  which  one  certain  outcome  at  last  is  made  sure 
by  the  combined  effect  of  events  already  past.    Evidently, 
therefore,  the  most  skillful  plotting  will  be  that  in  which 
the  decisive  moment,  or  height  of  the  plot,  likewise  is  the 
climactic  moment,  or  height  of  the  action — the  point,  that 
is,  of  greatest  suspense  and  tensest  interest.     This  does 
not,  however,  always  happen;  the  height  of  the  plot  may 
not  coincide  with  the  height  of  the  action,  and  therefore 
the  grand  climax  may  precede  or  follow  the  decisive  mo- 
ment.    It  is  more  likely  to  follow  than  to  precede.2 

2  In  tragedy,  the  decisive  moment  is  also  known  as  the  tragic 
moment.  With  the  decisive  moment  (when  recognized  immediately), 
"anticipatory  delay"  begins;  this  continues  until  the  outcome  is 


THEORY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT  75 

C.  The  FALLING  ACTION.     This  part  is  that  which  fol- 
lows the  decisive  moment.     It  can  be  regarded  as  the 
beginning  and  approach  of  the  end.     Frequent  names  for 
it  are  denouement,  untangling,  or  resolution  of  the  plot. 
We  shall,  however,  be  accurate  enough  and  more  com- 
prehensible if  we  call  it  merely  that  part  which  carries 
us  on,  as  rapidly  as  may  be,  from  the  decisive  moment  to 
the  outcome.     It  may  contain  the  climactic  situation ;  but 
when  it  does  so,  the  interest  of  this  situation  will  not  in- 
frequently be  found  to  depend  on  intensifying  influences 
other  than  those  of  the  bare  plot. 

D.  The  OUTCOME  (also  called  by  some  denouement  or 
catastrophe}.     In  modern  plotting,  the  tendency  is  more 
and  more  to  telescope  falling  action  and  denouement  into 
outcome,  ending  the  action  as  quickly  as  possible  after 
the  decisive  moment  and  the  grand  climax.     Indeed,  in 
the  cottte  and  the  short  play,  "  falling  action "  is  often 
scarcely  to  be  found.     Instead,  the  decisive  moment  and 
the  moment  of  grand  climax  practically  include  the  out- 
come, or  at  least  bring  it  immediately  after  them.    Conclu- 
sions following  the  outcome  are  no  longer  found. 

7.  For  a  good  many  pages  now  our  attention  will  be 
occupied  by  discussion  of  plotting  and  the  plot.  In  con- 
sidering this  discussion,  the  student  should  bear  in  mind 
this  caution :  the  word  "  plot "  may  and  often  does  cover 
everything  from  a  bare  statement  of  the  central  thought, 
theme,  or  germ-idea  of  the  plot,  up  to  the  completed  story 
embodying  the  plot  in  its  final  and  most  finished  form. 

reached.  Within  it  comes  often  a  point  of  "  final  suspense,"  at 
which  the  outcome,  before  assured,  seems  again  to  hang  in  the 
balance.  Jn  fact,  the  anticipatory  delay  may  include  a  number 
of  points  of  balanced  suspense. 


f  ft  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

Perhaps  this  ~will  be  clearer  if  we  say  that  the  plot  may 
present  itself  in  various  degrees  of  fullness.  These  de- 
grees of  amplitude,  or  stages  of  amplification,  may  be 
listed  roughly  as  follows: 

A.  Plot  germ  (or  "  master  plot").  A  more  or  less 
general  conception,  or  thought ;  the  first  undeveloped  form 
of  an  idea  out  of  which  may  grow  a  true  plot.  In  effect, 
it  is  a  theme ;  and  if  the  figure  of  speech  be  continued,  we 
can  say  that  the  first  stage  of  development  from  the  plot 
germ  produces  the  plot  embryo  (see  B  here  following)  ; 
the  material  is  no  longer  in  plasmic  form,  but  has  been 
organized  and  limited  enough  to  have  its  own  distinct 
form  and  characteristics,  and  its  own  natural  tendency  to 
grow  or  develop  in  a  certain  definite  direction.  That  is, 
the  plot  germ  turned  into  a  plot  embryo  produces  the 
working-plot.  The  embryo  is  more  commonly  the  first 
form  in  which  the  plot  occurs  to  the  writer's  mind.  (See 
Hawthorne's  notebooks  for  many  examples  of  germ  and 
embryo.) 

V  B.  Working-plot,  or  plot  embryo.  In  the  working-plot, 
the  germ  thought  has  been  developed  enough  so  that  it 
affords  a  clear  epitome,  or  miniature,  of  the  full  plot  as  it 
will  be  when  developed.  It  is  the  complete  plot  com- 
pacted into  the  fewest  possible  words.  The  working-plot 
represents  the  first  stage  in  the  evolution  that  is  enough 
advanced  to  present  the  plot  definitely  as  a  whole,  al- 
though only  in  miniature. 

0.  Plot  abstract  or  synopsis.  The  plot  abstract  gives 
us  the  working-plot  enlarged  into  a  skeletonized  summary 
of  the  leading  incidents  and  action.  In  the  plot  abstract 
the  writer  provides  for  the  solution  of  all  his  serious 
problems  of  motivation. 


THEORY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT  77 

D.  Scenario.     A  plot  abstract  amplified  further,  and 
rearranged  to  bring  incidents,  scenes,  etc.,  into  the  order 
they  will  have  in  the  completed  story.     Here  the  writer 
must  adjust  anything  he  finds  amiss  in  the  previous  moti- 
vation; provide  for  the  auxiliary  and  supplemental  in- 
cident and  situation  and  for  any  atmosphere  materials  not 
involved  in  his  motivation  of  incident,  action,  and  charac- 
ter; and  in  general,  reconstruct  and  amplify  until  he  has 
a  very  definite  forecast  of  the  story  in  its  completed  form. 
The  scenario  may  be  regarded  as   a  thoroughgoing  ab- 
stract of  the  story  in  its  completed  form.     A  scenario 
confined  solely  to  plot  elements   (amplified  synopsis)   is 
known  as  an  action-plot. 

E.  Fulfilled    plot.      This    is    merely    the    amplified 
scenario,  or  completed  story. 

8.  The  evolution  of  a  plot,  therefore,  begins  with  the 
plot  embryo  (or  the  germ).     Plot  abstract  and  scenario 
represent    the    workman's    devices    for    managing    and 
subjecting  his  materials  to  his  purpose.      The  fulfilled 
plot,  or  completed  story,  represents  his  skill  as  a  workman 
in  handling  his  materials  and  employing  the  devices  of 
his  trade,  plus  his  innate  literary  ability.     In  reading 
the  discussion  that  follows,  the  student  will  be  helped  by 
keeping  these  distinctions  in  mind,   although  the  refer- 
ences are  usually  to  plot  abstract,   and  action-plot — the 
most  important  stages  of  plot  construction. 

9.  Examples  of  plot  germ,  working-plot,  and  plot  ab- 
stract are  here  given: 

(1)  Germ:     Dishonorable  conduct  on  the  part  of  a 
son  who  lacks  a  sense  of  honor  may  crush  a  highly  hon- 
orable father. 

(2)  Working-plot,  or  embryo  (the  germ  idea  developed 


78  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

into  a  more  concrete  conception)  :  Billings,  lacking  a 
sense  of  honor,  by  mispresenting  facts  induces  his  father 
to  become  surety  on  a  bond  for  construction  work  that 
Billings  fails  to  complete;  and  his  father,  scrupulously 
discharging  the  obligation,  is  ruined.  [Another:  Bill- 
ings, lacking  a  sense  of  honor,  basely  betrays  an  innocent 
girl,  and  his  disgraceful  conduct  breaks  his  father's 
heart.] 

(3)  Plot  abstract:    Billings,  an  unscrupulous  man,  is 
a  contractor,  and  bids  upon  an  important  piece  of  con- 
struction.     To  make  certain  of  winning,  he  names  too 
low  a  price  and  specifies  terms  obscurely  under  which  he 
expects    to    "  catch "    the    employing    firm    and    recoup 
himself.     But  this  firm  is  doubtful  of  him,  and  requires 
an  iron-clad  bond,  which  he  cannot  procure.     In  despera- 
tion he  deceives  his  father  about  the  facts  and  gets  his 
signature  to  the  bond.     But  Billings  has  to  perform  his 
contract  under  a  competent  and  incorruptible  inspector, 
and  is  therefore  unable  to  work  the  tricks  by  which  he 
expected  to  make  his  profits ;  so  that  he  finds  himself  with- 
out funds   to   complete   the  work   and   is   ruined.     His 
father,  refusing  to  take  advantage  of  technical  defenses 
against  his  responsibility,  sacrifices  his  own  fortune  in 
meeting  his  obligations  under- /the  bond,  and  is  completely 
ruined. 

(4)  Action-plot:     This  again  would  amplify  the  plot 
abstract,  working  out  in  detail  the  general  action  indi- 
cated in  the  abstract,  and  making  any  transpositions  or 
inversions  that  seem  desirable  in  the  order  of  events. 

(5)  Scenario:      Would   be   the   action-plot   with   the 
addition  of  the  other  necessary  elements  of  the  story  in- 
dicated in  compact  form. 


THEORY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT  79 

XIII.    THE  EXPOSITION  is  THE  INTRODUCING  PART  OF 
THE  PLOT 

1.  Every   plot   has    an   outcome.      This    implies   that 
there  has,  in  the  course  of  the  action,  been  either  a  change 
or  an  imminent  likelihood  of  change,  from  one  state  of 
things  to  another;  the  change  either  took  place,  or  else 
it  was  averted.     This  in  turn  implies  that,  to  understand 
this  change  and  the  manner  in  which  it  came  about  or 
was  averted,  we  must  know  what  the  state  of  things  was 
at  the  time  when  the  action  began.     The  purpose  of  the 
exposition  in  plot  is^  to  make  known  this  state  of  affairs 
from  which  there  is  to  be  a  change,  or  in  which  (after 
a  period  of  struggle  or  critical  uncertainty)  change  is  to 
be  averted.     That  is,  the  function  of  the  exposition  is,  to  \ 
make  the  story  clear  by  putting  before  us  the  facts  that 
belong  to  the  beginning  of  the  plot. 

2.  No  one  should  take  the  term  "  exposition  "  to  mean 
what  is  known  technically  in  rhetoric  as  exposition,  or 
infer  that  exposition,  in  the  rhetorical  sense,  is  the  means 
finally  to  be  employed  in  making  the  situation  clear  out 
of  which  the  action  has  its  rise.     Formal  exposition  has 
no  prominent  part  in  any  stage  of  dramatic  or  narrative 
writing.     This  part  of  the  plot  is  expository  only  in  the 
sense  that  through  it  is  clearly  explained  the  beginning 
state  of  affairs.    But  even  in  the  plot  abstract,  its  methods 
are  not  the  methods  of  rhetorical  exposition,  and  like  the 
completed  story,  it  depends,  even  in  its  condensed  form, 
mainly  on  narration,  dramatic  action,   and   description. 
Certainly   when   the   time   comes   to   embody   the   intro- 
ductory facts  of  the  exposition  in  the  story  itself,  they 
are  to  be  presented  as  far  as  possible  through  the  words 


SO  SHORT  STOKIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

• 

and   deeds  of  persons  belonging  to  the   story,   and  not 
through  any  formal  explanation. 

3.  In  the  exposition,  great  compression  and  economy 
of  detail  are  to  be  observed.     By  economy  of  detail  is 
meant  the  introduction  of  no  more  facts  than  are  neces- 
sary to  serve  the  purpose.     This  implies  the  careful  in- 
spection of  all  the  pertinent  facts,  to  determine  which 
are  most  serviceable  and  which  can  be  set  aside.     For 
some  facts  will  prove  unnecessary,   either  because  they 
indicate  matters  that  are  already  sufficiently  shown,  or 
because  they  indicate  matters  that  are  not  essential  to  a 
clear  following  of  the  story.     The  principle  of  economy 
of  detail  is  important  throughout  narration,  but  it  is  es- 
pecially important  in  the  exposition.     For  the  exposition 
does  not  exist  for  its  own  sake,  but  merely  as  an  aid  to 
the  understanding — an  introduction  to  and  initiation  of 
the  action;  and  its  usefulness  and  interest  cease  as  soon 
as  it  has  brought  the  reader  to  the  point  where  he  can 
begin  to  follow  the  movement  of  the  plot  for  himself. 

4.  In  the  fulfilled  plot,  or  completed  story,  distribu- 
tion of  the  detail  closely  follows  economy  of  detail  in 
importance.     By  distribution  we  refer  to  the  gradual  in- 
troduction of  preliminary  information  as  the  narration 
proceeds.     That  all  the  information  ultimately  demanded 
by  adequate  exposition  be  introduced  immediately  when 
the  story  begins,  is  not  necessary.     The  best  results  are 
likely  to  come  from  distributing  this  information  through 
the  story,  some  here  and  some  there,   as  circumstances 
permit  or  demand.     Nevertheless,  in  general  principle,  it 
should  come  as  early  as  possible.     Here  it  is  necessary 
again  to  distinguish  the  order  of  the  facts  in  the  com- 
pleted story  from  their  order  in  the  plot  abstract,     In 


THEORY  AND  PRACTICE  or  THE  PLOT  81 

the  plot  abstract,  the  facts  necessary  to  the  exposition  of 
course  come  at  the  first,  and  it  is  not  until  we  begin  the 
amplification  of  the  plot  abstract  into  scenario  form  that 
we  face  the  problems  of  distribution. 

5.  As  the  information  constituting  the  exposition  can 
be  presented  in  various  ways,  such  a  distribution  is  more 
easy  than  it  would  be  otherwise.     The  information  can 
be  given  in  direct  statement  by  the  author ;  it  can  be  em- 
bodied in  descriptive  passages;   it  can  be  presented  in 
the  course  of  conversation  between  persons  in  the:  story; 
and  it  can  be  suggested  by  acts  and  incidents  forming 
part  of  the  action  itself.     Therefore,  when  he  has  the 
expository  information  clearly  in  mind,  the  writer  finds 
many  opportunities  of  distributing  it,  as  needed,  through 
the  narrative.    That  this  method,  when  it  is  practicable,  is 
the  better,  is  obvious.    An  exhaustive  outline  of  the  situa- 
tion as  a  whole   (whether  this  outline  be  introduced  at 
the  opening  of  the  story  or  injected  later  on)  is  usually 
more  mechanical  and  less  pleasing  than  is  an  exposition 
skillfully  scattered  in  inconspicuous  places  through  the 
narrative.      The   distributed   exposition   does  not   attract 
attention  to  itself  as  such,  but  merges  itself  in  the  more 
important  development  of  the  story  as  a  whole;  nor  does 
it  interrupt  or  delay  the  action  as  the  undistributed  ex* 
position  nearly  always  does.     The  explanation  is  realized 
without  being  perceived,  and  it  so  becomes  more  homoger 
neously  a  part  of  the  plot  itself. 

6.  We  well  may  emphasize  the  superiority  of  the  dis* 
tributed    exposition    in    bringing    on    the    action    more 
promptly.      So  far  as  narrative  or  dramatic  interest  is 
concerned,  the  story  does  not  really  begin  until  the  de* 
velopment,  or  "  movement/'  of  the  plot  begins;  all  before 


82  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

this  is  nothing  but  prelude  and  make-ready.  To  hold  back 
the  reader  longer  than  is  necessary  from  the  course  of 
events  in  which  his  interest  will  find  its  source  if  he  be- 
come interested  at  all,  is  poor  artistry.  To  bring  him  as 
quickly  as  possible  to  the  real  stuff  and  business  of  the 
story  is  the  aim  of  the  skilled  artist.  A  large  proportion 
of  the  most  successful  stories  open  therefore  with  some- 
thing vital  to  the  plot  itself,  leaving  the  expository  matter 
for  introduction  later  on.  Frequently  the  necessary  ex- 
position can  be  embodied  naturally  in  the  early  speeches 
of  the  persons.  This  method  is  especially  dramatic  and 
effective.  That  by  thus  distributing  this  information  the 
writer  can  usually  clear  the  way  for  an  immediate  plunge 
into  the  business  of  the  story  itself,  is  sufficient  evidence 
of  the  value  of  the  distributed  exposition. 

7.  Yet  the  general  superiority  of  the  distributed  ex- 
position does  not  imply  that  the  distributed  exposition  is 
always  to  be  preferred.  A  massed  exposition  may  be 
better  in  particular  instances.  The  nature  of  the  ma- 
terial to  be  handled,  the  purpose  of  the  author  in  telling 
the  story,  the  mood  or  tone  which  he  decides  upon  for  the 
narrative,  and  the  method  of  development  which  he  adopts 
— any  of  these  may  make  the  massed  exposition  prefer- 
able or  necessary.  An  illustration  is  afforded  by  one  type 
of  structure  in  the  contrast  story,  namely,  that  in  which 
the  effect  aimed  at  is  produced  by  the  difference  between 
conditions  as  they  are  at  the  beginning  of  the  story  and 
as  they  are  at  the  time  of  the  outcome.  True,  distribu- 
tion of  the  expository  matter  may  prove  as  advantageous 
in  the  contrast  story  as  in  any  other  kind,  for  the  intro- 
duction of  the  successive  portions  serves  constantly  to 
renew  the  suggestion  of  contrast.  But  the  writer  may 


THEORY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT  83 

prefer  to  set  off  the  contrasted  facts  in  two  distinct 
groups,  one  balancing  the  other.  He  then  unhesitatingly 
employs  the  massed  exposition. 

8.  Somewhat  of  this  type  is  Eichard  Harding  Davis's 
"  A  Question  of  Latitude  "  (in  Once  Upon  a  Time,  Scrib- 
ner).     In  this  story,  the  influence  of  tropical  African  life 
is  shown  upon  the  morals  and  tastes  of  a  Boston  gentle- 
man.    The  larger  part  of  the  story  is  consumed  in  making 
evident  the  nature,  the  savage  brutality  and  vileness  of 
barbarian  tropical  existence;  against  which  portrayal  is 
balanced  that  part  of  the  story  in  which  the  Boston  gen- 
tleman is  seen  succumbing  to  these  debasing  influences. 
If  we  wish,  we  may  object  that  part  of  this  exposition  is 
not  exposition  at  all,  but  development,  intensification,  and 
atmosphere  creation.     Even  so,  however,  the  utility  and 
effect  of  the  massed  exposition  when  used  fitly  can  be 
plainly  seen  in  Mr.  Davis's  story. 

9.  A  review  of  these   considerations  reveals  the   fol- 
lowing chief  facts  about  exposition  as  a  plot  factor :    First, 
it  is  essential  to  an  understanding  of  the  outcome  in  all 
instances  except  those  in  which  character,  motive,   and 
action  completely  explain  themselves  without  preliminary 
exposition  (that  is,  it  gives  us  the  beginnings).     Second, 
the  greatest  compression  and  economy  of  detail  are  neces- 
sary in  presenting  the  exposition,  for  the  sole  justification 
of  the  exposition  is  its  service  in  making  clear  the  story 
proper,  and  it  must  not  usurp  space  or  interest.     Third, 
severe  testing  of  all  the  information  admitted  is  necessary, 
to  avoid  the  introduction  of  matter  that  is  impertinent  or 
redundant.     Fourth,  in  the  fulfilled  plot,  distribution  of 
expository  matter  through  the  story  is  usually  preferable, 
because  this  enables  the  writer  to  enter  quickly  on  the 


&4  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

action  of  the  story  itself,  and  causes  the  exposition  to 
merge  more  homogeneously  in  the  narration;  but  the 
question  of  preferring  the  distributed  to  the  massed  ex- 
position must  be  answered  by  considering  the  nature  of 
•  the  material,  the  general  plan  of  presentation,  and  the 
purpose  of  the  writer.  Finally,  the  test  of  a  good  exposi- 
tion is,  sufficient  but  not  superfluous  explanation  of  con- 
ditions, especially  at  the  beginning  of  the  action,  and 
thorough  merging  of  this  material  into  the  story  itself. 

10.  A  list  of  the  matters,  some  or  all  of  which  must 
be  known  in  order  to  follow  the  plot  understandingly, 
would  be  useful,  but  detailed  enumeration  is  impossible. 
No  one  can  foresee  all  the  combinations  open  to  the  writer 
when  his  imagination  begins  to  deal  with  the  limitless 
mass   of  material   at   his   command.      Some   suggestions, 
nevertheless,  are  given.     It  will  be  noticed  that  all  the 
items  in  such  a  list  will  be  peculiar  items— that  is,  they 
will  name  details  peculiar  to  the  one  particular  plot,  theme, 
character,  or  atmosphere.    Such  matters  as  are  common  to 
all  situations  or  are  naturally  assumed  because  they  are 
characteristic  accompaniments  of  the  situation  developed 
by  the  story,  call  for  no  explanation.    Information  that  is 
general  property  needs  no  exposition. 

11.  Expository  information  that  the  writer  may  need 
to  mention  includes: — 

A.  Particular  character  traits  that  affect  the  plot  (e.g., 
that  a  man  is  a  woman-hater ;  that  a  perfectly  honest  wife 
has  the  habit  of  flirting,  etc.). 

B.  Particular  situations  that  affect  the  plot  (e.g.,  that 
a  broker  is  bankrupt,  although  his  wife  does  not  suspect 
it;  that  the  maid  is  in  love  with  the  master;  that  the 
convict  is  an  innocent  man ;  that  the  girl  has  inclosed  the 


THEORY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT  85 

wrong  letters  in  writing  to  her  two  lovers  at  the  same 
time,  etc.). 

C.  Names  of  the  persons,  with  or  without  further  in- 
formation at  the  moment  (but  at  least  a  swift  characteriz- 
ing touch  is  desirable). 

D.  Occupation  or  station  in  life  (is  the  hero  a  black- 
smith, a  lawyer,  a  book-keeper?  rich  or  poor?  etc.). 

E.  Personal     facts — peculiarities,     mannerisms,     age, 
tastes,  etc.,  as  far  as  these  things  are  necessary  to  the 
characterization   or  important  to  the   action,  theme,   or 
atmosphere. 

F.  Time,  place,  setting,  and  other  elements  of  environ- 
ment. 

G.  Any  other  items  necessary  to  the  comprehension  of 
motive,  complication,  character,  theme,  action,  atmosphere, 
situation,  outcome,  or  to  the  final  effect. 

XIV.    THE  EXCITING  MOMENT,  OR  INCITING  IMPULSE, 
BEGINS  THE  DEVELOPMENT 

1.  The  exposition  represents  the  status  quo,  the  exist- 
ing state  of  things,  at  the  beginning  of  the  action.3  The 
moment  this  existing  state  of  affairs,  this  status  quo, 
is  threatened  with  change,  that  moment  the  action — the 
movement,  or  development — of  the  plot  begins.  Something 
has  happened  or  been  done  that  threatens  to  produce,  or 
actually  produces,  change ; 4  matters  are  not  as  they  were ; 
a  new  condition  or  influence  has  thrust  itself  in,  and  this 

8  The  reader  is  cautioned  to  remember  that  the  order  of  events 
in  the  plot  abstract  may  not  be  their  order  in  the  completed  story. 
We  may  now  assume  ourselves  to  be  dealing  with  the  action-plot. 

4  This  something  we  may  call  the  generating  circumstance. 


86  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

new  element  must  either  be  overcome  and  got  rid  of,  or 
else  must  be  accepted  and  permitted  to  work  its  natural 
results. 

.  2,  From  this  moment,  therefore,  a  struggle  will  be 
going  on — light  or  serious,  tragic  or  humorous — between 
this  new  influence  and  things  as  they  were.  Presently 
this  contest  will  rise,  through  a  period  of  climax,  to  a 
moment  of  crisis ;  then  it  will  reach  an  outcome ;  and  with 
this  the  story  ends.  Until  this  influence  appeared,  there 
was  no  complication,  no  uncertainty,  no  question  of  out- 
come. In  the  colloquial  phrase,  "  everything  was  perfectly 
simple,"  quite  plain.  But  the  appearance  of  the  compli- 
cating, or  opposing,  or  change-threatening  influence,  the 
complication,  brought  on  uncertainty,  debate,  struggle — 
that  is,  the  conflict. 

3.  Now  the  moment  at  which  the  status  quo  in  which 
affairs  were  shown  to  us  by  the  exposition,  was  brought 
to  an  end  by  the  appearance  of  this  complication,  is  known 
as  the  exciting  moment;  and  the  complicating  influence,  no 
matter  what  it  be,  is  known  as  the  inciting  or  exciting  force 
or  impulse.     Evidently  no  action,  and  therefore  no  dra- 
matic effect,  is  possible  before  the  inciting  force  is  intro- 
duced.    When  the  exciting  impulse  shows  itself — again 
using  the  popular  phrase — things  begin  to  move ;  and  witli 
the  beginning  of  movement  in  the  plot  begins  the  true 
development  of  the  story. 

4.  We  may  now  ask,  what  sort  of  thing  can  supply 
this  inciting  force,  thus  complicating  a  simple  situation 
and    commencing    a    conflict  ?      Theoretically,    anything 
which  in  the  experience  of  man  has  shown  itself  able  to 
produce  change  in  his  affairs,  either  directly  or  indirectly, 
immediately   or   remotely,    is   available   as    a  means   of 


THEORY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT  87 

complication.  But  technical,  artistic,  and  practical  conr 
siderations  limit  this  range  of  choice  of  complicating 
influence. 

5.  It  is  desirable,  for  instance,  that  the  conflict  seem 
to  spring  from  causjxsjhgj,^^  inevitable, 
and  that  the  complicating  facts  fit  the  situation,  agreeing 
with  the  persons,  their  character,  their  environment.    That 
is,  it  must  be  natural  and  congruous.     This  is  especially 
necessary  for  the  generating  circumstance.     If  either  this, 
or  the  complication  it  introduces,  be  merely  accidental,  it  is 
likely  to  seem  improbable.     If  it  be  evidently  manufact- 
ured, or  be  something  "  lugged  in "  or  forced  into  the 
situation,  it  will  seem  artificial  and  untrue.    To  illustrate : 
It  is  not  common  for  girls  in  the  ranks  of  ordinary  life 
to    meet   young   noblemen;    therefore    when   Annie,    the 
daughter  of  the  shoestore  man,  engaged  to  John  the  young, 
thriving,  but,  of  course,  bourgeois  grocer,  meets  the  prince 
of    Schwindlermgut,    who   immediately   begins   to   crowd 
John  in  the  rivalry  for  her  hand,  we  feel  that  the  complica- 
tion is  unnatural  and  forced.     As  a  consequence,  all  the 
story  seems  untrue.     But  if  instead  of  its  being  a  prince 
who  attracts  Annie,  it  is  Mike,  the  young  plumber  and 
hardware  dealer,  we  do  not  have  to  gulp  very  hard  to 
swallow  the  complication.     Things  like  that  do  happen; 
they  are  natural ;  and  there  is  no  incongruity  about  them 
such  as  there  is  in  the  courtship  of  a  common  and  com- 
monplace girl  by  a  prince. 

6.  Accidental  complication  is  of  two  sorts:  those  com-\ 
plications   arising  from  the   ordinary  chances   and   mis- 
chances of  existence,  and  those  arising  from  accident  in 
the  stronger  sense  of  the  term — a  happening  that  is  unusual 
and   extreme.      Extreme    accident   is    illustrated   by   the 


88  SHOET  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

following:  The  wife  of  a  paper  manufacturer,  happening 
to  pick  up,  when  visiting  his  mill,  a  sheet  of  paper  from 
the  waste  about  to  be  ground  up  for  new  pulp,  finds  it  to 
be  a  love  letter  written  to  her,  but  never  mailed,  by  her 
husband's  trusted  friend.  By  this  she  is  led  to  fall  in  love 
with  this  friend.  Now  such  a  discovery  as  that  of  the 
letter  is  possible,  but  so  extremely  accidental  as  to  seem 
improbable.  Only  the  remotest  chance  is  involved;  and 
if  we  accept  the  rest  of  the  story,  we  can  do  so  only  by 
agreeing  with  ourselves  to  overlook  the  improbability  that 
underlies  the  motivation  at  the  outset.  And  this  is  hard 
to  do;  for  the  complication  is  vital  to  the  story,  and  the 
generating  circumstance  must  be  convincing.  It  must 
seem  natural  and  true  to  life.  The  inciting  impulse  and 
;  generating  circumstance  must  seem  more  than  merely 
adequate  to  produce  the  result  that  follows;  they  must 
seem  true  to  the  prevailing  (not  the  exceptional)  facts 
of  human  experience. 

7.  The  other  sort  of  accident  is  that  which  constitutes 
the  class  of  merely  ordinary  haps  and  mishaps — the  kind 
common  to  everyday  experience,  occurring  all  the  year 
round.  Such  occurrences  seem  probable  rather  than  im- 
probable, they  commonly  bring  no  particularly  significant 
consequences,  and  we  instinctively  class  them  with  the 
ordinary  events  of  existence;  they  soon  cease  to  have 
meaning  or  distinction  for  us.  Hence  they  are  likely, 
when  introduced  as  the  inciting  force  or  motivation,  or  the 
generating  circumstance,  to  seem  inadequate  or  to  fail  in 
impressiveness.  This  is  why  complications  introduced 
by  such  accidents  as  sprained  ankles,  swimming  mishaps, 
capsized  boats,  broken  legs,  runaways,  fires,  railway 
wrecks,  sudden  illnesses,  an<J  the  like,  usually  lack  the 


THEOEY  AKD  PRACTICE  or  THE  PLOT  89 

quality  of  "  convincingness  "  and  make  the  stories  fall 
flat.  It  is  perfectly  true  that  any  one  of  such  accidents 
may,  if  properly  managed,  constitute  a  thoroughly  good 
complication.5  Such  is  the  complicating  event  in  De 
Maupassant's  A  Piece  of  String.  A  pocket-book  has  been 
lost,  a  miserly  old  man  picking  up  a  bit  of  string  alongside 
the  path  is  believed  to  have  found  it,  and  from  these 
simple  happenings  develops  a  series  of  incidents  realisti' 
cally  tragic  in  their  outcome. 

8.  From  what  precedes,  it  is  evident  that  exciting6 
moment,  or  inciting  impulse,  involves  two  things :  the 
complication  itself,  and  the  discovery  of  the  complication. 
"  Discovery/'  like  "  exciting  force,"  is  a  technical  term. 
It  indicates  the  revelation  of  the  existence  of  a  complicat- 
ing influence,  the  discovery  taking  place  at  the  moment 
when  the  reader  (not  necessarily  the  person  or  persons 
affected  by  it  in  the  story)  becomes  aware  that  this 
complicating  influence  exists.7  So  far  as  the  impression 
is  concerned  which  the  story,  at  least  for  the  moment,  will 
make  upon  the  reader,  the  discovery  is  as  important  as  is 
the  complication  revealed  by  it.  And  both  are  subject 
to  the  same  requirements. 

5  This  is  much  more  the  case  in  realistic  than  in  romantic  treat- 
ment.    Unfortunately,   the   novice  in   writing  usually   attempts   to 
use  these  accidents  as  motivating  incidents  in — supposedly — romantic 
stories. 

6  The  student  will  have  observed  that  "  exciting "  has  the  sense 
of  "being  the  causal  force  that  arouses  to  action."     In  this  sense, 
tickling  excites  laughter.     Excitement,  in  the  sense  of  tumultuous 
or   highly-wrought   feelings,    may  be   quite   absent   at   the   moment 
when  the  exciting  force  begins  to  act. 

7  "  Discovery "  is  like  many  other  technical  terms  in  having  two 
meanings.    Thus,  it  often  means  the  revelation  of  a  hidden  identity, 
or  similar  plot  fact,  at  some  crisis  in  the  drama  or  story. 


90  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

9.  These  requirements  we  may  sum  up  in  the  word 
plausibility.    Discovery  and  complication  must  each  strike 
us  with  belief;  and  complete  plausibility  exists  only  when 
we  accept  them  without  any  shade  of  feeling  that  they 
may  be  open  to  doubt.     Yet  plausibility  is  possible  with- 
out truth,   and  our  complications   (even   more  than  the 
discovery  of  them)   should  be  able  to  stand  the  closest 
critical  examination  if  the  reader  chance  to  question  them. 
The  writer,  of  course,  makes  a  thorough  test  of  them  in 
deciding  upon  his  plot. 

10.  Plausibility  of  the  sort  that  can  stand  a  thorough 
test  is  the  result  of  consistency.     Consistency,  however, 
must  not  be  regarded  as  essential  merely  at  the  moment 
when  the  complication  is  revealed.    It  is  essential  in  every 
part  of  the  plot,  in  every  incident,  every  person,  every  act, 
every  motive,  and  every  particular  of  environment.8    In- 
consistency in  any  part  or  element  of  the  completed  story, 
no  matter  how  small  the  part  or  subordinate  the  element,  is 
a  blemish  and  a  fault.    And  as  the  complication  is  one  of 
the  most  important  elements  of  the  plot,  inconsistency  in 
the  complication  is  fatal;  it  falsifies  the  basic  conception 
and  therefore  falsifies  the  story  as  a  whole. 

11.  Wherein,   then,   does  plausibility  lie?     We  have 
already  seen.    First,  the  generating  circumstance,  the  dis- 
covery, and  the  complication  (like  all  other  elements  of 
the  story)  must  be  consistent  with  the  prevailing  experience 
of  the  race.     That  is,  they  must  reasonably  be  believable 
when  considered  (a)   in  the  light  of  human  nature  and 
mind,  and  (b)  in  the  light  of  the  laws  of  nature  and  the 
conditions   of   social   existence.      Anything  that   violates 

8  The    assertions   about    consistency    are    just   as    applicable    con- 
cerning congruity.     Congruity  is,  indeed,  one  element  of  consistency. 


THEORY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT  91 

human  experience  concerning  the  way  in  which  the  mind 
works,  or  the  motives  from  which  men  act,  or  the  laws  of 
nature  by  which  the  material  world  in  which  they  live  is 
governed,  or  the  social  conditions  surrounding  them,  is  an 
inconsistency  so  serious  as  to  invalidate  any  plot  and  any 
story. 

12.  This  does  not  mean  that  myth,  legend,  fairy  story, 
burlesque,  are  illegitimate  forms  of  narrative.     For  it  is 
quite  consistent  with  the  working  of  the  human  mind  to 
create  such  conceptions,  and  even  the  grossly  impossible 
is  allowable  when  it  is  presented,  not  as  factual  truth, 
but    (as  in  the  fairy  tale)    as   an   idealization   of  or   a 
recognized  departure  from  the  truth,  or  (as  in  the  bur- 
lesque) a  commentary  on  the  truth. 

13.  This  fact  brings  us  to  a  secondary  form  of  consist- 
ency, the  principle  of  which  may  be  thus  stated:   The 
main  conception  having  been   decided   on,   and  being  a 
conception  that  is  consistent  with  human  experience  andN 
human  viewpoint,  we  must  in  working  out  the  story  itself 
introduce  no  element  that  is  inconsistent  with  our  main 
conception.     Hard  fact  is  likely  to  violate  the  consistency 
of  the  fairy  tale ;  episodes  of  romantic  adventure  but  poorly 
fit  the  realistic  story;  a  complication  arising  from  some 
high  ethical  ideal   assumed  to  exist   in  the   mind   of  a 
jungle  warrior  is  untrue  to  human  experience;  the  cook 
lady  who  discards  her  footman  lover  because  he  eats  with 
his  knife,  is  in  obvious  disagreement  with  the  standards 
of  manners  in  her  class.    The  scholar  does  not  say  "  ain't," 
the  gunman  seldom  discourses  philosophically,  the  back- 
woods girl  does  not  wear  high-heeled  pumps  or  pannier 
skirts  except  upon  the  stage,  the  machine-gun  is  not  good 
material  for  a  story  of  black  art,  and  florid  language  does 


92  SHOUT  STOKIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

not  agree  with  a  simple,  heartfelt  theme.  There  is  a 
seemliness  of  minor  consistency  as  important  as  is  con- 
sistency in  the  basic  conception. 

14.  It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  the  generating  cir- 
cumstance, the  complication,  and  the  discovery — the  plot- 
facts  belonging  to  the  exciting  moment — must  be  con- 
sistent with  experience  and  with  the  rest  of  the  story; 
that  they  must  be  thus  consistent  in  order  that  they  and 
the  story  of  which  they  are  a  part  shall  be  plausible;  and 
that  plausibility  is  necessary  in  order  that  the  story  shall 
have  the  vitally  important  quality  of  true-seeming,  or 
verisimilitude.  Without  verisimilitude,  the  story  had 
better  not  exist ;  and  verisimilitude  is  produced  only  by  the 
consistency  that  results  from  fundamental  truthfulness 
in  the  presentation  of  man  and  nature,  and  the  exclusion 
of  all  incongruous  detail. 

XV.    THE  RISING  ACTION  DEVELOPS  THE  PLOT  TO  ITS 
DECISIVE  MOMENT 

1.  The  moment  the  discovery  has  advanced  far 
enough  so  that  the  reader  senses  a  complication,  even 
though  this  complication  be  as  yet  incompletely  revealed, 
that  moment  the  story  begins  to  move;  the  action  is  on.  And 
from  that  moment,  it  must  advance.  If  there  are  lulls, 
they  must  be  but  temporary,  and  must  end  with  a  new 
and  considerable  advance.  Moreover,  the  plot,  the  action 
— indeed,  all  the  story — must  not  merely  advance ;  it  must 
advance  with  rising  interest.  Onward  and  upward  is  the 
motto:  onward  for  the  development,  upward  for  the 
interest.  Until  the  climactic  moment,  or  height  of  in- 
tensity is  reached,  this  rule  is  imperative.  And  interest  in 


THEORY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT  93 

the  thoroughly  effective  story,  continues  and  may  even  in- 
crease after  the  plot-action,  having  reached  its  decisive 
point,  begins  to  drop  off  to  the  conclusion. 

2.  The  rising  action,  then,  includes  all  the  development 
of  the  plot  that  begins  with  the  first  hint  of  the  complica- 
tion and  continues  until  it  completes  itself  in  the  decisive 
moment.      (We  have  seen  that  the  climactic  moment  is 
usually  found  at  the  close  of  the  development,  or  rising 
action,  included  in  or  closely  associated  with  the  decisive 
moment.)     The  importance  of  the  decisive  moment  calls 
now  for  consideration. 

3.  Plot  depends  upon  conflict — the  push  and  pull  of 
opposing  influences  that  threaten  to  change,  and  attempt 
to  thwart  the  threatened  change,  in  the  state  of  things  as 
in  the  exposition  they  were  shown  to  be.     Out  of  this 
conflict  springs  the  action ;  in  the  end,  the  action  brings  the 
outcome;  and,  therefore,  somewhere  in  the  course  of  the 
action,  a  moment  has  to  come  when  one  set  of  influences 
gains   such   an   advantage    over  the   other  set   that   the 
prevailing  set  cannot  fail,  in  the  long  run,  to  triumph. 
This  is  the  decisive  moment. 

4.  True,  the  struggle  does  not  necessarily  end  at  this 
moment ;  for  a  while  at  least  it  is  likely  to  continue.     In- 
deed, there  may  come  another  time  (perhaps  even  a  second, 
found  in  the  falling  action)  when  the  outcome  seems  again 
uncertain.     Moreover,  the  reader  may,  at  the  time,  not 
realize  that  the  decisive  moment  has  been  reached   (see 
"His  Bubble  Reputation,"  Adventure,  December,  1913). 
But  when  the  action  is  complete — when  the  height  has  been 
passed  and  the  outcome  at  last  is  known — then  he  can  look 
back  and  say,  "  It  was  there  that  the  outcome  was  settled ; 
after  that,  no  other  result  was  possible.     There,  was  the 


94  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

moment  in  which  was  decided  all  that  followed."   (The 
most  obvious  examples  are  the  surprise  stories.) 

5.  Now  let  us  draw  our  conclusions  from  these  facts. 
The  decisive  moment  is  the  turning  point  of  the  plot  (we 
are  to  remember  that  it  had  best  coincide  with,  or  at  least 
closely  precede,  the  climactic  height).    All  that  precedes  it, 
leads  up  to  it  and  makes  it  possible;  all  that  follows  it 
flows  from  it  directly  toward  the  outcome.    Therefore,  the 
construction  of  the  plot  throughout  the  stage  of  rising 
action — the  choice  of  incidents,  the  characterization,  the 
indication  of  environment,  the  motiving,  all  in  short  that 
is  involved  in  developing  the  story  to  a  point  where  its 
outcome  is  made  inevitable — must   be  managed  with  a 
view  to  creating  this  decisive  confluence  of  causes.     This 
moment,  this  concurrence  of  character,  motive,  environ- 
ment, and  act,  is  the  first  main  goal  of  the  constructive 
mind  in  the  process  of  building  up  the  plot.9     The  aim 
of  the  writer  must  be,  throughout  the  developing  stage,  to 
make  all  the  elements  of  his  plot  so  converge  that  this 
moment  shall  be  in  truth  and  necessity  decisive.    Success 
in  plotting  lies  much,  if  not  mainly,  in  this  subordination 

j  of  the  story  materials  to  the  production  of  this  moment. 
Upon  this  will  depend  the  plausibility  and  strength  of 
the  climactic  height. 

6.  We  naturally  ask  now  how  to  proceed  in  order  thus 
to  subordinate  the  material  of  the  story  to  the  production 
of  a  decisive  moment ;  but  the  question  is  of  that  sort 
which  can  scarcely  be  answered  in  full.     To  do  so  would 
involve    a   complete    exposition    of    the    management    of 
description,     incident,     and     action,     atmosphere,     and 

9  But   in   building   up    the   complete   story,    the   climactic  height 
is  the  goal. 


THEORY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT  95 

characterization,  for  all  these  may  happen  to  be  employed 
in  creating  a  state  of  affairs  to  which  there  can  be  but 
one  outcome.  Our  discussion  of  plot  development  (rising 
action)  leads  to  frequent  incidental  mention  of  all  these, 
as  accessories  and  aids  to  plot  growth,  but  only  one  of 
them  is  primarily  important  to  plot  development  This 
one  is  incident.  For  the  plot,  as  the  necessary  framework 
of  every  conte,  is  a  group  of  acts,  incidents,  or  events, 
springing  out  of  and  leading  up  to  one  another,  and 
collectively  producing  the  outcome.  So  far  as  the  theory 
of  plot  is  concerned,  therefore,  the  developing  element 
of  chief  importance  is  incident — the  acts  and  events  con- 
stituting the  true  plot-action.  Hence  at  this  point  our 
study  must  concern  principally  the  management  of  inci- 
dent. 

7.  Plot  development,  then,  consists  in  the  management 
of  a  set  of  acts,  incidents,  or  events,  in  such  a  way  that 
presently  they  will  make  one  particular  result  sure  and, 
consequently,    another   contrary   result   impossible.      But 
what  do  we  mean  by  management  ? 

8.  First  and  most  important,  we  mean  combining  the 
acts,  incidents,  and  events,  into  an  interlocking  group  or 
series;  so  that  each  shall  depend  on  one,  several,  or  if 
possible  all  of  the  others,  and  so  that  a  certain  result  shall 
flow  from  them,  dependent  upon  them  all  collectively.    The 
art  of  plot-building  lies  in  this  combining  of  incidents  to 
produce  sound  motivation,  leading  to  a  conclusive  outcome. 
After  this,  "  management "  means  the  successful  presen- 
tation— by  narration   or   other   means — of  the   incidents 
individually;  for  much  that  is  gained  by  good  workman- 
ship in  plot-building  may  be  offset  by  inartistic  or  in- 
capable presentation. 


96  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

9.  In  the  combining  of  incidents  so  that  they  shall 
converge  to  a  decisive  moment — so  that  (putting  it  another 
way)  their  accumulating  effects  shall  unify  themselves  in 
creating  a  situation  which  naturally  terminates  everything 
in  a  single  definite  outcome — the  writer  must  attend  with 

j/no  small  care  to  motiving  and  motivation.  The  two  terms 
are  coupled  here  because  the  attempt  is  sometimes  made 
to  employ  them  with  distinct  meanings,  although  it  is 
not  always  clearly  successful. 

10.  Except  in  music,  the  word  motive  means,  "  exciting 
(or  inciting),  or  responsible  cause."     In  music,  motive, 
or  motif,  is  the  theme  and  purpose  of  the  composition. 
The  word — preferably   in  its   foreign  form,   motif — has 
been  brought  over  into  literary  criticism  with  this  special- 
ized meaning;  so  that  to  speak  of  the  motif  of  a  story 
is  to  speak  of  its  basic  theme  and  purpose,  taken  together. 
But  motive  in  its  common  acceptation — not  that  of  motif 
— means  either,   (a)   the  reason  or  object  which  leads  a 
person  to  do   a  certain  thing    ("  What  was   his  motive 
for    the    murder?"),    or     (b)    the    set    of    causes    out 
of  which  an  act  springs  ("  What  was  the  motive  for  the 
murder  ?  ") 

11.  The   only   difference,   however,   between    (a)    and 
(b)   is  this:  in  (a)  the  attention  is  fixed  on  the  person 
who  acts;  in  (b)  attention  is  fixed  on  the  act  itself.     In 
the  one,  we  consider  the  responsible  cause  as  it  involves 
character;  in  the  other,  we  consider  the  responsible  cause 
as   it   affects  the   result.      This    difference   indicates  the 
distinction — if  any  can  be  drawn — between  motiving  and 
motivating.     Motiving   consists  in   providing  good   and 
sufficient  cause  for  the  behavior  of  the  person;  motivating 
consists  in  providing  good  and  sufficient  cause  for  conse- 


THEOEY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT  97 

quences  found  in  act  and  deed  and  in  event.  We  motive 
acts  in  character.  We  motive  incident  and  action  by 
means  of  plausible  causes  of  any  sort. 

12.  Adequate  motivation,  therefore,  includes  the  con- 
sideration of  motive  and  character,  plus  such  other  in- 
fluences as  likewise  determine  action  or  create  incident. 
The  term  is  a  technical  term  indicating  the  process  by 
which  the  literary  artisan  builds  action  and  incident  out 
of  the  materials  of  environment,  character,  and  situation. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  however,  the  student  is  as  likely  to 
find   the   process    indicated   by   the   more    limited   term 
"  motive  "  as  by  this  more  precise  designation ;  for  motive 
is  always  very  prominent  in  motivation.     The  important 
thing  for  him  to  remember  is,  that  character,  act,  and  inA 
cident — each  and  all — must  be  rooted  deeply  in  adequate] 
cause. 

13.  How  he  shall  motivate  the  incident  of  his  plot  is  a 
matter  that  must  be  left  to  the  story-teller  to  work  out 
anew  with  every  story ;  for  every  plot  is  a  new  conception, 
and  brings  its  own  problems  of  construction  and  manage- 
ment.    Its  characters,  its  atmosphere,  its  incident,  its  ac- 
tion, and  the  detail  wherein  each  of  these  is  embodied,  are 
distinct  from  those  of  every  other  plot.    They  are  peculiar 
to  this  one  conception,  and  the  combining  of  them  con- 
sistently and  effectively  is  a  work  that  depends  for  its 
success  solely  upon  the  constructive  ability  of  the  writer 
and  the  skill  he  has  acquired  through  practice. 

14.  Yet  a  few  hints  can  be  given.     For  instance,  the 
: "  row-of -bricks  "  ordering  of  incidents  is  usually  less  nat- 
ural and  less  satisfying  in  results  than  is  the  "  dissected 
picture  "  method  of  combination.     By  "  row-of-bricks  " 
is  meant  the  plotting  of  the  incidents  in  a  series,  the  first 


98  SHORT  STOEIES  IN  THE 

of  which  results  in  the  second,  the  second  producing  the 
third,  the  third  the  fourth,  and  so  on,  as  one  brick  in  a 
row,  falling,  knocks  down  the  one  next  it,  and  so  begins 
a  movement  that  knocks  down  all  the  row  one  by  one. 
But  by  "  dissected  picture  "  method  is  meant  the  dove- 
tailing, or  interlocking,  of  each  incident  with  various 
others,  until  all  are  fitted  into  place  and  at  last — and  only 
then,  with  the  completion  of  the  most  skillful  combination 
— the  problem  of  the  conflict  shows  itself  solved. 

15.  An  example  of  the  chain-of-sausages,  or  row-of- 
bricks,  plot  will  be  found  among  those  given  in  Section 
III.  The  weakness  of  this  style  of  plot  is  twofold.  In  the 
first  place,  it  is  not  as  consistent  with  the  usual  order  of 
events  as  is  the  plot  of  interdependent  incident,  because 
in  the  natural  order  of  things,  especially  in  human  activi- 
ties, many  separate  influences  co-operate  at  the  same  time 
in  the  production  of  any  particular  result.  Act  and  deed 
and  event  are  not  the  result  of  a  mere  succession,  a 
single  string,  of  causes.  They  are  the  result  of  an  inter- 
woven and  interoperative  group  of  causes.  These  indeed 
are  often  so  intricate  and  complex  in  their  influence  upon 
one  another,  and  so  inextricably  interactive  in  producing 
any  definite  outcome,  that  the  writer  has  to  pick  and 
choose  among  them  in  order  that  his  plot  shall  not  itself  be 
inextricably  complex  and  confused.  The  bringing  on  of 
a  decisive  moment  depends  upon  this  selection,  or  choice 
and  rejection,  of  possible  material.  Good  workmanship 
in  motivating,  therefore,  springs  from  (a)  the  skill  with 
which  a  sufficient  group  of  adequate  interacting  causes  is 
chosen  to  produce  a  decisive  set  of  conditions,  l)ut  also 
from  (l>)  the  skill  with  which  influences  and  causes  that 
are  not  necessary  to  the  production  of  this  particular  set 


THEORY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT  99 

of  decisive  conditions  are  discriminated  from  the  necessary 
causes  and  resolutely  excluded  from  the  plot.  In  the  light 
of  these  facts,  the  row-of  bricks  plot  is  seen  clearly  not  to 
conform  to  the  usual  conditions  of  cause-and-effect  in  the 
actual  world. 

16.  The  second  weakness  of  string-of-beads  motivation; 
is,  that  it  does  not  result  in  closely-woven  plot — the  essen- 
tial requisite  of  the  conte.    This  form  of  plot  is  that  which 
belongs  rather  to  the  tale  than  to  the  story  intended  to 
produce  a  single  and  dramatic  effect.     A  mere  succession 
of  incidents  can  lead  up  to  and  terminate  in  a  climactic 
incident  capable  of  producing  the  single  dramatic  effect; 
but  except  in  the  most  skillful  hands  it  is  much  more  likely 
to  prove  only  what  it  is — a  string  of  events.     Even  when 
the  series  closes  with  an  incident  greater  in  interest  than 
is  any  of  those  that  precede  it,  it  is  likely,  nevertheless, 
not  to  prove  a  close-wrought  plot.     In  the  close-wrought 
plot,  the  decisive  moment  and  the  climactic  height  conse- 
quent upon  it,  depend  on  all  the  preceding  incidents  taken 
collectively,  not  successively.     Altogether,  therefore,  the 
plot    of    interacting    and    interlocking    incident    is    that 
which  involves  the  most  effective  motivation ;  and  that  it 
therefore  calls  for  a  higher  constructive  skill  is  nothing 
to  its  disparagement. 

17.  Yet  in  one   sense  the  incidents  that   are  chosen 
because  of  their  fitness  collectively  to  produce  a  decisive 
moment  resulting  in  an  outcome  of  single  dramatic  effect, 
must,  nevertheless,  constitute  a  series.     Their  effect,  it 
is  true,  is  collective;  but  it  is  built  up  cumulatively. 
Therefore,  they  must  succeed  one  another  in  a  series  of 
"  movements "  that  produce  constantly  intensifying  sub- 
effects.     Incident  B  ought  not  to  fall  below  incident  A  in 


100  SHOUT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

individual  interest,  and  at  least  in  theory  should  surpass 
it.  Incident  C  must  carry  to  a  higher  point  the  interest 
of  incident  A  +  incident  B ;  and  incident  D  must  not  only 
be  as  interesting  in  itself  as  incidents  A,  B,  and  C 
individually,  but  must  also,  in  combination  with  them, 
carry  on  the  interest  to  a  still  higher  point.  Figuratively, 
the  incidents  resemble  the  ingredients  of  gunpowder; 
taken  separately,  they  have  merely  their  individual  efficacy 
and  force,  but  combined  they  have  a  force  far  in  excess 
of  the  mere  sum  of  their  individual  potencies. 

18.  So  from  incident  to  incident  (whatever  the  order 
be  in  which  the  events  are  ultimately  introduced),  the 

^uncertainty  of  the  conflict,  the  force  of  the  situation,  the 
charm  of  the  atmosphere,  the  power  or  attraction  of  the 
character  traits,,  must  not  only  continue,  but  grow.  Unless 
in  this  sense  the  incidents  constitute  a  series,  the  holding 
power  of  the  plot  itself  will  fail.  No  reader  reads  a  story 
that  "  drops  off "  as  the  action  proceeds.  The  very 
terms  "  rising  action,"  "  development,"  "  growth,"  used 
to  describe  this  stage  of  the  plot,  imply  rising  interest, 
developing  interest,  growing  interest,  advancing  interest. 
This  result  is  essentially  the  object  sought  in  dramatic 
plotting.  The  very  aim  and  purpose  of  the  close-wrought 
plot  is,  to  produce  and  fulfill  a  rising  interest. 

19.  Yet  in  the  struggle  to  make  each  incident  of  higher 
interest  than  the  one  before  it,  the  inexperienced  writer 
may  easily  fall  into  a  serious  fault — that  of  exaggerating, 
of  over-straining  for  effect.     Nor  is  the  student  to  under- 
stand that  the  term  "  interest  "  is  an  absolute  term,  or 
that  interest  is  synonymous  with  excitement,  "  strenuous  " 
action  or  situation,  or  sensationalism  in  any  form.     It 
does  not  imply  that,  if  incident  A  kills  off  a  man  for  us, 


THEORY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  ?LOT          l6l 

incident  B  must  kill  off  two  or  else  fail  of  interest;  the 
increased  interest  of  incident  B  may  lie  in  its  showing 
us  the  murderer  happily  eating  breakfast  in  the  bosom 
of  his  admiring  family.  This  mistake  about  the  nature 
and  quality  of  interest  leads  the  writer  to  strive  at  any 
cost  for  increasing  effect,  and  is  as  fatal  as  it  is  common. 
It  produces  an  artificiality  of  plot  and  treatment  that 
recklessly  deserts  nature  and  truth.  Rather,  interest  must 
be  measured  by  considering  10  the  kind  of  story,  the  kind 
of  situation,  the  sort  of  persons,  the  manner  of  incident 
employed,  and  the  Jcind  of  outcome — all  these  together. 
The  interest  of  the  arrow-pierced  target  legs  in  Kipling's 
Cupid's  Arrows  is  relatively  as  great  as  the  interest  of 
poor  little  Bisesa's  chopped-off  hands  in  the  same  author's 
Beyond  the  Pale,  but  it  is  of  an  entirely  different  kind  and 
quality,  and  neither  incident  would  for  a  moment  be 
usable  in  the  other  of  these  two  stories. 

20.  All  this  amounts  to  saying  that  interest  is  a  rela- 
tive fact  only,  and  is  to  be  measured,  so  far  as  the  sequence  i 
of  incidents  is  concerned,  solely  by  the  standards  estab- 
lished by  the  particular  story  that  is  in  the  making.  The 
most  powerful  incident  in  De  Maupassant's  The  Necklace 
is  practically  nothing  more  than  the  brief  sentence  of 
dialogue  in  which  Mme.  Loisel  learns  that  she  has  slaved 
ten  years  to  replace  a  lost  necklace  the  gems  of  which  were 
nothing  but  paste.  Further,  the  interest  of  any  incident 
does  not  lie  solely  in  itself.  The  plot  interest  of  any 
incident  lies  in  the  significance  of  this  incident  in  associa- 
tion with  all  its  companion  incidents  (as  in  that  just  cited 
from  The  Necklace).  The  incident  is  interesting  either 
because  (a)  it  carries  forward  to  a  new  stage  what  has 
10  For  suspense  and  interest,  see  XVIII. 


102  SHORT  BTOKIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

already  occurred,  or  (b)  introduces  new  elements  of  com- 
plication, or  (c)  adds  significant  information  to  what  we 
already  have,  or  (d)  introduces  action  that  seems  to  offset 
preceding  events,  thus  renewing  or  increasing  uncertainty. 

21.  This  being  true,  we  see  that  the  most  trivial  hap- 
pening, the  most  commonplace  act  or  remark,  may  'become, 
as   an    element    of   plot,    vitally    important    and    vitally 
interesting.     From  the  point  of  view  of  plot,  therefore, 
interest  lies  not  so  much  in  what  the  incident  itself  is  as 
in  what  it  stands  for  in  the  development  of  the  plot. 
Thus,  in  Moonlight  (De  Maupassant)  we  are  not  deeply 
concerned  in  the  beauty  of  the  night  as  the  woman-hating 
Abbe  Marignan  sees  it;  tens  of  thousands  of  men  and 
women  have  seen  and  reveled  in  nights  as  fair.     What 
makes  it  interesting  is  not  this,  but  its  effect  upon  the 
Abbe;  for  it  touches  an  unsuspected  spring  of  sympathy 
in  him,  reveals  what  to  him  is  a  new  element  in  human 
life;  and  thus,  transforming  his  conception  of  God  and 
man,  remodels  his  character.    Moreover,  through  the  story, 
De  Maupassant  presents  a  theme  that  cannot  fail  to  inter- 
est many  thoughtful  persons,  and  from  the  theme  too,  the 
incident  derives  interest. 

22.  Plainly,  then,  interest  in  any  incident  lies  largely 
in  its  significance  as  a  plot  element  u — in  ivhat  it  stands 
for  or  brings  about  in  developing  the  action  toward  the 
outcome.     But  because,   for  plot  purposes,   the   interest 
lies  in  the  result  more  than  in  the  incident,  we  are  not  to 

11  This  assertion  is  somewhat  lopsided.  In  character  stories, 
interest  will  lie  largely  in  the  characterizing  value  the  incident  has; 
in  atmosphere  stories,  in  its  power  to  suggest  atmosphere;  and 
so  on,  according  to  the  purpose  of  the  story.  -This  fact  should 
be  carefully  noted.  See  concentrative  incident,  etc.,  flfl  30-42. 


THEORY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT          103 

suppose  that  incidents  which  in  themselves  are  uninterest- 
ing, can  be  safely  used.  Quite  the  contrary.  No  material 
that  is  inherently  tedious  will  become  less  tedious  for 
serving  as  an  exemplum  or  an  argument.  True,  incidents 
that  are  not,  of  themselves,  of  any  particular  significance, 
can  be  effectively  employed — but  only  when  they  become 
positively  interesting  through  their  relation  to  the  rest  of 
the  plot  events,  and  the  best  results  are  those  that  follow 
when  incidents  themselves  of  positive  interest  are  employed 
to  carry  forward  a  plot  that  itself  is  interesting.  In 
thus  attempting,  however,  to  estimate  the  positive  or  in- 
trinsic interest  of  any  plot  material,  we  are  on  very 
dangerous  ground ;  for  to  'one  who  has  eyes  to  see,  ears 
to  hear,  and  power  to  understand,  nothing  is  without 
significance,  and  what  is  trivial,  trite,  jejune  or  com- 
monplace in  the  hands  of  the  incompetent  is  not  so  in 
the  hands  of  a  master.  So  long  as  any  incident  or  act  is 
true  to  the  nature  of  things  and  is  so  used  as  in  some  way 
to  advance  the  presentation  of  a  conception  that  likewise 
is  true  to  the  nature  of  things,  and  that  is  important  enough 
to  deserve  development,  so  long  will  that  act  or  incident 
be  interesting  within  the  story. 

23.  Reviewing,  we  recall  that  interlocking  incident 
produces  more  effective  plot  than  does  row-of-bricks  inci- 
dent; that  interest  must  increase  with  the  progressive 
appearance  of  the  various  incidents  essential  to  the  plot ; 
that  incidents  are  interesting,  in  their  plot  relations,  not 
for  intrinsic  qualities,  but  for  their  significance  as  develop- 
ing elements  in  the  action ;  and  that,  with  masterly  insight 
and  skillful  handling,  even  the  most  commonplace  matters 
become  significant.  We  are  now  to  see  that  the  principle 
which  prescribes  a  steady  rise  in  interest  with  the  develop- 


104  SHOET  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

ment  of  the  plot,  is  subject  to  qualification.  But  this 
qualification,  let  the  student  note  at  once,  is  in  no  degree 
a  modification  of  the  fundamental  rule  that  we  have  just 
been  considering. 

24.  The  qualification   mentioned   is,    indeed,   nothing 
more  than  an  explanation  of  conditions  that  arise  when 
a  more  or  less  full  or  complex  plot  is  to  be  carried  to  its 
decisive  moment ;  for  in  such  a  plot  there  may  be  several 
interlocking  groups  of  incident  (movements;  events),  the 
groups  having  perhaps  little  plots,  or  chains  of  develop- 
ment, of  their  own.     But  here  we  must  digress  to  say  that 
subplot,  or  any  excessive  complexity  of  incident,  is  danger- 
ous in  the  conte.     The  mere  space  limitation  of  the  story 
often  makes  adequate  development  of  such  a  plot  impossi- 
ble.     Moreover,   with   an   increase   of   complication   and 
incident  (involving  more  extensive  characterization,  more 
numerous  persons  and  motives,  more  intricate  motivation, 
a    more    inclusive    setting — in    short,  a    multiplicity    of 
interest  elements  and  materials),  the  one  single,  unified, 
simple    effect    of    the    dramatic    story    (conte)    becomes 
increasingly  difficult  to  produce.     Often  single  effect  be- 
comes  impossible,    and   the   narrative   passes   over  from 
conte  into  novelet  or  novel. 

25.  Yet  the  fact  does  remain  that  a  certain  amount  of 
complexity  of  plot  is  possible,  even  to  the  extent  of  subplot. 
But  these  are  occasional  instances  only,  and  development 
of  subplot,  and  solution  of  the  separate  complications  in 
them,  must  be  possible  with  extreme  simplicity  of  action 
and  of  detail.     Only  so  will  the  narrative  be  preserved  in 
the    form    of   the    conte.      Keeping    now    in  mind    this 
important  warning — that  a  complex  plot,  if  given  adequate 
development,  may  so  increase  the  necessary  amount  of 


THEORY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT          105 

fictional  material  as  to  render  singleness  of  dramatic  effect 
impossible — we  may  return  to  our  explanation. 

26.  In  the  complex  plot,  we  said,  there  may  be  several 
groups  of  incident.     These  groups  fit  together  to  make  the 
complete  plot,  but  each  of  them  is  developed  to  a  consider- 
able degree  separately.    Now,  the  requirement  that  interest 
steadily  increase  applies  to  the  management  of  these  groups 
in  the  plot  when  the  plot  is  considered  as  a  whole,  just 
as  it  applies  to  single  incidents  in  the  simpler  plot.     That 
is,  as  the  development  passes  from  one  group  to  another, 
the  interest  must  continue  steadily  to  rise.    At  the  close  of 
the  development  of  group  B,  it  must  be  higher  than  it 
was  at  the  close  of  the  development  of  group  A,  and  so  on. 
Indeed,  every  group,  in  its  relation  to  the  plot  as  a  whole, 
is  practically  equivalent  to  a  single  incident  in  a  simple 
plot ;  it  produces  an  advance  and  a  higher  interest. 

27.  So    much    is    plain.      But    what    happens    when 
interest,  following  one  group  of  incidents,  or  movement, 
through  its  individual  course  of  development  to  its  in- 
dividual climax,  then  finds  itself  suddenly  at  a  stop  unless 
it  take  up  and  follow  through  another  group  ?     Does  not 
this  pause  and  turning  back  produce  a  break  and  a  let- 
down in  the  interest?     It  does.     And  this  is  one  reason 
why  the   subplot   and   the   plot   of  complex   incident   is 
dangerous  for  short  story  (conte)  purposes.    The  breaking 
of  continuous  interest  at  the  points  where  one  stage  of 
development  ends  and  the  action  turns  back  or  changes  in 
order  to  develop  another  stage,  may  destroy  the  reader's 
feeling  of  unity,  of  totality,  of  singleness  of  interest,  of 
material,  and  of  outcome.    If  it  do  so — good-by  to  the  true 
short  story  effect. 

28.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  one  group  of  incident  may 


106  SHOKT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

be  very  closely  wrought  in  with  the  next/2  and  the  groups 
can  perhaps  be  so  promptly  and  simply  developed  that 
the  break  does  not  become  serious.  Then  no  harm  is  done. 
As  one  passes  from  one  group  to  the  next,  he  feels  that 
he  is  actually  moving  forward  in  the  story;  before  one 
group  is  fully  developed,  the  development  of  another  has 
been  begun,  and  whatever  gap  there  might  be  is  already 
bridged  across.  In  fact,  the  rising  action  may  be,  and 
often  is,  not  an  unbroken  upward  increase,  but  rather  an 
increase  by  successive  stages,  or  degrees.  Interest  rises 
through  stage  A  to  the  climactic  moment  of  that  stage; 
then,  still  alert,  it  turns  quickly  to  the  incident  of  stage 
B.  So  far  as  this  B  group  is  concerned,  it  is  not  yet 
thoroughly  aroused ;  but  even  at  the  outset  it  is  higher  than 
it  would  be  had  it  not  been  already  excited  by  following 
through  stage  A;  and  it  continues  to  increase  until,  when 
the  climactic  height  of  stage  B  is  reached,  it  is  as  high 
as  the  effect  of  all  the  incidents  in  group  B  plus  the 
held-over  interest  of  stage  A  can  raise  it.  That  is,  we  may 
compare  the  grand  climax  of  the  whole  plot  to  a  mountain 
peak  in  the  further  and  highest  range  of  a  mountain 
system.  To  reach  the  final  peak,  we  must  pass  over 
several  intervening  ranges,  with  the  valleys  that  lie  be- 
tween. But  every  succeeding  range  is  higher  than  the  one 

12  Some  of  the  technical  devices  for  binding  such  groups  together 
are:  Having  persons  who  take  part  in  one  set  of  incidents  appear 
in  the  other  set;  making  a  happening  of  one  set  become  the  cause 
of  something  that  happens  in  the  other;  carrying  one  set  partly 
through,  then  breaking  off  to  take  up  the  other,  returning  later  to 
the  first  once  more;  causing  the  two  sets  to  take  place  at  one 
and  the  same  time — a  fact  indicated  by  time  references  as  may 
be  needed.  So  slight  a  thing  as  the  occurrence  of  two  events  in  the 
game  place  tends  to  bind  them  together, 


THEORY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT          107 

before  it,  and  every  succeeding  valley  is  at  a  higher  level 
than  the  last  preceding  valley;  until  the  last  valley  is 
crossed  and  we  attain  the  master  summit. 

29.  Thus  from  stage  to  stage  the  interest  is  kept  alert, 
held  over,  and  increased.    If  at  the  beginning  of  each  new 
stage  of  development  it  drops  back  a  little  from  the  point 
where  the  height  of  the  preceding  stage  left  it,  it  drops  back 
but  a  little,  and  it  quickly  rises  higher  still  as  the  incidents 
of  the  present  stage  combine  with  those  of  the  preceding 
stages.    By  a  series  of  successive  climaxes,  therefore,  each 
having  a  starting-point  higher  than  did  the  one  before  it 
— by  such  a  series  of  successive  stages  or  movements,  the 
development  goes  on  and  the  interest  rises.     The  decisive 
point  is  reached ;  the  grand  climax  is  completed ;  and  the 
outcome  either  has  been  revealed  already  (at  the  climactic 
moment)    or   is  just  before  us.      The  ranges  have  been 
crossed,  the  peak  scaled.     Interest  has  been  conserved  at 
every  point,  and  has  been  made  to  grow  steadily  through 
every  stage  of  the  rising  action.     In  the  story  of  complex 
plot,  as  in  the  story  of  simple  plot,  the  rule  of  intensifying 
interest  has  held.13 

30.  Before  we  pass  to  consideration  of  the  next  stage 
of  the  plot  we  must  discuss,  however,  the  function  of  the 
plot  as  the  carrier  of  non-plot  material.    For  often  a  con- 
siderable amount  of  story  material  must  be  introduced  that 

18  Evidently,  the  opening  of  the  different  movements  in  such  a 
story  is  a  trying  problem.  On  the  one  hand,  these  "valleys,"  or 
internodes  and  points  of  lowered  interest,  are  plainly  the  place  for 
introducing  massed  exposition,  description,  etc.  But  on  the  other 
hand,  they  are  as  plainly  under  the  necessity  of  getting  the  new 
movement  under  way  as  promptly  as  possible,  so  that  interest  may 
not  slacken.  Here  as  elsewhere,  the  safer  practice  seems  to  be,  to 
reduce  accessory  matter  to  a  minimum. 


108  SHORT  STOKIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

is  not  plot  material  (in  the  strict  sense  of  the  term 
"  plot "),  but  which  is  just  as  necessary  to  the  success  of 
the  conte  as  is  the  plot  itself,  with  its  conclusive  outcome. 

31.  The  plot,  we  must  remember,  no  matter  how  slight 
or  how  inconspicuous  it  be,  is  always  and  ever  the  frame- 
work, the  supporting  skeleton  of  the  story.     The  skeleton 
must  be  filled  forth  into  a  body.    Therefore,  as  the  frame- 
work of  the  story,  the  plot  must  provide,  in  some  or  all 
of  its  different  divisions,   opportunity  for  the  adequate 
presentation  of  every  element  that  enters  into  the  final 
effect  of  the  story.     Somewhere,  the  plot  must  provide 
opportunity  for  presenting  character,  atmosphere,  setting, 
situation,  mood,  emotion — all  that  enters  into  the  com- 
pleted narrative  and  helps  to  make  it  a  finished  creation. 
Therefore,   somewhere   in  the  plot  as  finally   organized 
there   must   be   a  place   for  every  necessary  passage  of 

[  description  and  of  dialogue,  for  every  scene,  act,  situation, 
and  incident  essential  to  getting  the  needed  story  material 
before  the  reader. 

32.  The  inference  from  this  is,  that  in  both  the  rising 
and  the  falling  action  and  either  accompanied  or  not  ac- 
companied  by   other    story   material,   incidents   may    be 
introduced  that  are  not  vital  to  the  plot,  but  that  are, 
nevertheless,  vital  to  the  total  effect  of  the  presentation. 
Such  incidents  as  are  vital  to  the  plot  are  known  as  plot 

*  incidents;  and  it  is  this  kind  of  incident  with  which  we 
are  concerned  throughout  the  present  chapter.  But  here 
we  must  mention  the  so-called  developing,  or  amplifying, 
material — a  better  designation  for  which  is  intensifying  or 
concentrative  material.  A  plot  incident  is  one  that  cannot 
be  omitted,  or  of  which  the  essential  character  cannot  be 
made  different,  without  destroying  the  plot  itself  by  re- 


THEOEY  AND  PEACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT          109 

moving  its  essential  motivation,  or  else  changing  it  so 
fundamentally  that  its  outcome  is  thereby  changed.14  A 
concentrative  or  intensifying  incident,  however,  is  one  that 
can  be  omitted  without  fatally  crippling  the  plot  in  its 
original  form,  or  that  can  be  changed  or  varied  materially 
without  producing  thereby  a  different  outcome. 

33.  The   purpose   of  the  plot  incident  is,  to  achieve 
the  outcome;  the  purpose  of  the  intensifying,  or  concentra- 
tive, incident  is,  to  center  attention  on  significant  facts 
of  any  sort,  to  concentrate  in  a  limited  space  and  time 
as  much  of  typical  action,  characteristic  trait,  significant 
environment,  and  other  elements  of  the  desired  effect,  as  it 
can  pack  in.     By  selecting  elements  and  material  that 
will  go  furthest  toward  producing  the  desired  impression, 
and  presenting  this  significant  material  in  well-managed 
incident,  the  writer  concentrates  its  force  and  intensifies 
through  it  the  final  effect  of  the  story. 

34.  We  here  speak  primarily  of  incident  as  the  means 
employed  to  present  concentrative  material ;  but  we  must 
fix  in  mind  that  intensifying  material  does  not  lie  in  act 
and  incident  only.     Both  character  (expressed  in  acts), 
and  atmosphere,  in  all  their  limitless  variations,  are  inten- 
sifying material  of  the  greatest  value.    Nor  is  incident  the 
only  means  available  for  presenting  these  sources  of  con- 
centrated interest  and  interpretative  fact.     But  this  we 
need  not  discuss  here. 

35.  To  distinguish  or  even  to  discriminate  the  plot 
incident  from  the  amplifying,  or  concentrative  incident, 
is  difficult.     In  the  best  stories,  plot  incidents  are  likely 
to  be  the  only  incidents  employed,  the  writer's  gift  ena- 

14  Such  incidents  will  seldom  occur  in  the  plot  until  it  has  reached 
the  synopsis  stage  of  development. 


110  SHOKT  STOEIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

bling  him  to  conceive  a  plot  so  perfect,  and  to  develop  it 
with  so.  sound  judgment  in  the  selection  and  command  of 
material,  that  adequate  presentation  of  the  plot  itself 
results  in  adequate  presentation  also  of  all  other  elements 
essential  to  the  effect  desired.  Yet  the  introduction  of 
incidents,  and  of  other  material,  not  to  further  the  plot, 
but  to  emphasize  some  element  that  will  contribute  to 
the  total  effect,  is  frequent.  In  general,  therefore,  we 
say  that  plot  incident  may  be  (and  should  be)  concentra- 
tive  incident;  that  intensifying  incident  may  be  plot 
incident;  and  that  either  may  shade  off  into  or  merge  with 
incidents  of  the  other  class.  (The  term  "  incident "  may 
here  be  interpreted  to  mean  any  material  necessary  to  the 
intended  effect  of  the  story.) 

36.  Brief   illustration  will   show  the   nature   of   plot 
incident.      The  germ   idea  of  our  plot   is   this :   A  son, 
lacking  a  sense  of  honor,  commits  an  act  which  ruins  his 
father,  the  soul  of  honor.     Considering  how  to  develop  a 
plot  from  this  idea,  we  see  that  the  ruin  worked  upon 
the  father  may  be  either  material  (financial)   or  psycho- 
logical ;  the  son  may  bankrupt  his  father  or  he  may  break 
his  heart,   or  he  may  do  the  latter  by   first  doing  the 
former.     We  decide  upon  financial  ruin.      To  ruin  his 
father  financially,  the  son  must  do  some  act  or  acts  in- 
volving his  father's  fortune.    Formulating  a  working-plot, 
we  will  assume  that  he  is  engaged  in  contracting,  and  that 
to  secure  an  important  contract  he  offers  a  bond  signed  by 
his  father  under  a  misapprehension.     Unable  to  carry  out 
his  agreement    (as   he   knew  he  might   be),   he  forfeits 
the  bond,  the  payment  of  which  ruins  the  old  man. 

37.  In  this  transaction  we  have  a  plot  incident;  that 
is,  an  incident  indispensably  a  part  of  the  series  that  brings 


THEORY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT          111 

about  the  predetermined  outcome.  After  the  working- 
plot  has  been  decided  on,  a  plot  incident  cannot  be 
materially  changed,  since  to  change  it  would  materially 
alter  the  action  or  the  outcome.  From  the  plot 
germ  stated  above,  various  working-plots  might  have 
been  developed  (as  is  true  of  any  master-plot  or  plot 
germ).  Billings  (the  son)  might  have  forged  his  father's 
name  to  a  crushing  obligation;  he  might  have  compelled 
him  to  meet  ruinous  gambling  debts ;  he  might  have 
cornered  and  taken  advantage  of  him  in  some  "  deal " ; 
and  in  numerous  other  ways,  he  might  have  brought  him 
to  bankruptcy.  In  each  of  these  working-plots,  the  inci- 
dent employed — the  forgery,  the  gambling  payment,  etc. 
— would  have  then  been  a  plot  incident,  and  would  have 
been  indispensable  to  the  development  of  that  particular 
working-plot.  We  may,  therefore,  define  a  plot  incident 
as  any  incident  that  is  indispensable  as  a  motivating  step 
toward  the  production  of  the  outcome  required  by  the ' 
working-plot  adopted. 

38.  Now  let  us  change  the  character  of  the  outcome, 
and  state  another  working-plot  to  match.  Billings  is  to 
break  his  father's  heart,  not  merely  his  finances.  To  do 
this,  his  acts  must  strike  at  the  old  man's  sense  of  honor, 
not  at  his  fortune.  What  the  son  does  must  be  of  a  sort 
so  conclusively  and  crushingly  dishonorable  that  the  father 
shall  feel  himself  and  all  he  holds  dear  involved  in  the 
dishonor  of  the  son.  The  son  may,  for  instance,  betray 
for  a  price  the  secrets  trusted  to  him  of  a  great  cause  to 
which  his  father  and  his  father's  friends  have  devoted  life 
and  fortune.  This  'betrayal,  like  the  bond  transaction, 
is  a  plot  incident — an  incident  that  is  an  indispensable 
part  of  the  series  intended  to  produce  the  outcome.  True,- 


112  SHORT  STOKIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

any  other  incident  of  a  sort  permitting  it  to  be  similarly 
employed  to  bring  about  the  same  outcome — the  breaking 
of  the  father's  heart — could  be  used  as  a  plot  incident 
suitable  to  this  plot,  provided  it  were  equally  forceful, 
vivid,  and  natural,  and  in  general  offered  equal  dramatic, 
theatric,  and  narrative  advantages.  Thus,  base  behavior 
on  the  son's  part  in  the  betrayal  of  an  innocent  woman 
might  as  completely  crush  the  father.  But  the  working- 
plot  would  not  then  be  the  same;  a  new  and  different 
working-plot  would  have  been  created. 

39.  Such  are  plot  incidents — incidents  indispensably 
a  part  of  the  particular  series  meant  to  bring  about  the 
outcome.  But  amplifying  or  intensifying  materials  may 
be  selected  much  more  freely  than  may  strictly  plot 
materials.  Amplifying  incidents  are  not  necessarily 
part  of  the  causative  series  indispensable  to  the  predeter- 
mined outcome ;  they  may  only  concentrate  attention  upon 
some  fact,  or  quality,  or  emotion,  that  will  directly  or 
indirectly,  but  surely,  contribute  to  the  intended  final 
effect.  So  to  contribute,  they  must  be  adapted  to  awaken 
immediate  response  in  the  reader,  and  must  be  in  keeping 
with  the  story  as  a  whole ;  for  incongruous  material  is 
always  to  be  shunned  absolutely.  Any  material,  therefore, 
that  is  in  keeping  with  the  plot,  the  setting,  the  tone  of  the 
narrative,  and  the  character  of  the  persons,  may  be  intro- 
duced into  the  story  for  the  purpose  of  heightening  its 
effect;  provided  that  this  material  be  so  managed  that  it 
do  not  interfere  with  the  progress  of  the  plot.  For,  how- 
ever effective  it  may  be  toward  intensifying  desired  effects, 
if  it,  nevertheless,  occupy  too  prominent  a  place  or  require 
too  extended  treatment  in  proportion  to  other  parts  of  the 
•story;  if  it  attract  attention  to  itself,  to  the  obscuring  of 


THEORY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT          113 

the  main  theme  or  plot;  or  if  it  otherwise  cease  to  be 
frankly  and  solely  subordinate  and  contributory,  usurping 
on  the  contrary  the  attention  due  only  to  the  main  theme 
and  plot; — then  it  must  be  subdued,  or  if  this  prove  im- 
possible, must  be  resolutely  rejected  for  some  less  stub- 
born material.15 

40.  Concentrative  or  intensifying  passages  abound,  for 
intensification  is  freely  employed  to  emphasize  the  sig- 
nificant facts  of  character,  environment,  atmosphere — of 
everything,  indeed,  involved  in  the  total  impression  aimed 
at  in  the  story.  A  single  paragraph  from  The  Outcasts  of 
PoJcer  Flat  (Harte),  although  taken  at  random,  sufficiently 
illustrates  the  nature  of  the  concentrative  incident.  It 
reads : 

".  .  .  Mr.  Oakhurst  .  .  .  had  met  him  some 
months  before  over  a  '  little  game/  and  had  with  perfect 
equanimity  won  the  entire  fortune — amounting  to  some 
forty  dollars — of  the  guileless  youth.  After  the  game 
was  finished,  Mr.  Oakhurst  drew  the  youthful  speculator 
behind  the  door  and  thus  addressed  him :  '  Tom,  you're  a 
good  little  man,  but  you  can't  gamble  worth  a  cent.  Don't 
try  it  over  again.'  He  then  handed  him  back  his  money, 
pushed  him  gently  from  the  door,  and  so  made  a  devoted 
slave  of  Tom  Simson." 

41.  This  incident,  or  episode,  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  outcome  in  any  way.  Its  sole  purpose  is,  to  concentrate 
attention  on  and  emphasize  the  character  qualities  of  the 
two  persons  whom  chance  or  fate  has  thrown  together  once 
more,  this  time  to  be  partners  in  the  tragic  outcome  of  a 

15  We  must  concede,  however,  that  some  thoroughly  successful 
short  fiction  owes  its  value  to  its  contributory,  not  to  its  essential, 
elements. 


114  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

series  of  events  16  unconnected  in  every  way  with  their 
former  meeting.  Yet  as  a  concentrative  episode,  this 
incident  is  so  in  keeping  with  the  rest  of  the  story,  is  so 
simply  and  skillfully  managed,  so  natural  and  well-chosen 
from  the  great  number  of  incidents  that  the  author  might 
have  employed  to  the  same  end,  so  thoroughly  kept  sub- 
ordinate to  the  main  facts,  that  the  reader  does  not  in  the 
least  feel  its  complete  disconnectedness  from  the  plot. 
As  an  example  of  skillful  choice  and  skillful  management 
of  intensifying,  or  emphasizing,  material,  it  will  repay 
further  study. 

42.  The  student  will  observe  that  the  discussion  just 
given  to  concentrative,  intensifying,  or  emphasizing,  in- 
cidents is  somewhat  a  digression.  It  has,  however,  been 
introduced  here  for  several  reasons.  First,  it  is  desirable 
that  the  difference  between  plot  incidents  and  non-plot 
incidents  be  fixed  permanently  in  mind.  Second,  it  is 
necessary  that,  here  or  elsewhere,  attention  be  directed  to 
the  function  of  the  plot  as  the  carrier  of  non-plot  material. 
Third,  the  stage  of  rising  action,  or  development,  is  the 
stage  in  which  plot  incident  most  prominently  occupies  the 
writer  at  the  time  when  he  is  constructing  his  plot ;  for 
although  plot  incident  will  be  found  in  every  stage  of 
the  plot  from  the  moment  when  the  complication  first 
appears,  it  is  in  the  rising  action  stage  that  the  most 
skillful  and  careful  management  of  it  is  required,  in  order 
to  create  the  decisive  moment.  Without  forgetting  the 
importance  of  intensifying  incident  in  the  story  when 
finally  completed ;  and  realizing  that  this  sort  of  incident, 
like  plot  incident,  may  occur  in  any  part  of  the  story,  but 
is  likely  to  be  most  prominent  in  the  stage  of  exposition 
16  Let  the  student  pick  out  the  plot  incidents  in  this  story. 


THEORY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT          115 

and  of  the  rising  action ; — the  beginner  will,  therefore,  in 
constructing  his  plot,  have  to  concern  himself — prior  to 
the  scenario  stage — with  the  creation  and  organization  of 
plot  incident  only. 

XVI.    THE  FALLING  ACTION  BRINGS  THE  OUTCOME 
.  AND  CLOSE 

1.  Broadly  speaking,  when  the  outcome  has  been  made 
sure  through  the  gaining,  by  one  set  of  influences,  of  a 
permanent  advantage  over  the  other  set,  as  determined  by 
the  decisive  moment,  the  best  thing  thereafter  is,  for  the 
action  to  bring  on  that  outcome  as  rapidly  and  impressively 
as  possible.     For  suspense  continued  and  renewed,  for  ac- 
cumulating incident    (either  plot  or  concentrative),   the 
place  is  rather  before  than   after  the  decisive  moment. 
The  place  for  a  regatta  at  Niagara  is  not  in  the  falls,  nor 
in  the  waters  that  have  been  caught  in  their  rush.     And 
the  plot  that  has  come  to  its  decisive  moment  has  been 
caught  in  the  rush  of  the  stream  toward  the  falls.     The 
end  once  determined,  the  outcome  at  last  made  sure,  is 
to  be  reached  and  got  over  as  quickly  as  may  be;  for  if 
he  wait  too  long,  the  reader  loses  interest.    This  considera- 
tion dictates  the  principle  that  is  more  and  more  showing 
itself   in   drama   and   dramatic   narrative;   namely,   that 
falling   action   shall    be    reduced    to    the    least    possible 
amount.17 

2.  For  this  advice,  there  are  two  justifications:  When 

1T  Continuing  the  Niagara  comparison,  the  decisive  moment  is  that 
at  which  the  waters  are  caught  in  the  rush  toward  the  falls,  and 
the  falling  action  is  their  sweep  forward  from  that  moment  until 
they  plunge  over  the  precipice. 


116  SHOET  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

the  outcome  is  made  to  coincide  with  the  decisive  moment 
and  the  climactic  height,  it  is  likely  to  gain  greatly  in 
effectiveness — the  impression  it  makes  is  quicker,  deeper, 
and  stronger — that  is,  more  theatric,  in  the  best  sense  of 
the  term.  When  their  pull  begins,  the  falls  themselves — 
and  the  end  of  the  story — are  at  hand.  Such  an  ending 
materially  strengthens  the  dramatic  effect  sought  by  the 
conte,  and  is  nearly  always  characteristic  of  the  closely- 
wrought  plot.  In  addition  to  this,  the  omission  of  amplify- 
ing materials  wherever  they  are  unnecessary  to  the  full 
development  and  effect,  is  in  accordance  with  the  general 
principle  of  compression,  or  economy  of  detail,  that  we 
have  already  mentioned,  which  prescribes :  the  fewest  and 
simplest  means  with  which  the  desired  effect  can  be  fully 
wrought. 

3.  Inclusion  of  the  outcome  in  the  decisive  moment  is 
particularly  advisable  in  stories  which,  in  the  course  of 
the  rising  action,  have  made  very  plain  what  the  results 
are  that  the  conflict  can  produce.  The  reader,  clearly  per- 
ceiving the  consequences  of  this  or  that  turn  of  events  at 
the  height  of  the  conflict,  and  watching  with  eager  interest 
to  see  what  this  turn  will  be,  knows  as  soon  as  he  sees  it 
what  the  outcome  is.  When  the  boat  is  just  above  the  falls 
and  the  rope  holding  it  breaks,  the  rest  is  sure.  When  the 
decisive  turn  takes  place,  the  problem  is  solved.  If  the 
decisive  turn  reveals  itself,  the  end  of  things  is  already 
clear  to  him;  he  understands  this  end;  he  realizes  in  ad- 
vance its  grief  or  happiness,  its  comedy  or  tragedy.  There- 
fore, he  needs  little  or  no  falling  action,  untangling,  or 
resolution,  little  or  no  separate  presentation  of  an  outcome 
already  felt  in  its  full  force.  We  should  have  to  qualify 
this  assertion  only  as  it  affects  one  kind  of  story.  When  the 


THEORY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT          117 

effect  sought  is  that  which  springs  from  contemplating  *~ 
the  steady,  sure  approach  of  fate  (usually  tragic,  although 
it  may  be  comic),  the  proportions  are  reversed.  The  rising 
action  is  short,  the  decisive  moment  comes  early,  and  the 
falling  action  is  long  drawn  out.  Naturally,  in  this  kind 
of  story,  the  climactic  point  is  more  or  less  widely 
separated  from  the  decisive  moment. 

4.  In  most  stories  having  closely-wrought  plot,  there- 
fore, the  decisive  moment,  the  climactic  situation,  is  itself 
the  final,  the  conclusive  situation;  and  to  hitch  on  other 
incident  or   situation  is  to  couple  on   an  empty  trailer 
behind  the  observation  car.     The  trailer  merely  interferes 
with  or   spoils  the  view  from  the  observation-platform, 
the  decisive  climax.     In  a  story  so  plotted  and  managed 
that  its  decisive  height  embodies  or  unmistakably  suggests 
the  outcome,  further  scenes  or  situations  after  that  of  the 
decisive  height  are  superfluous,  and  dilute  and  nullify 
the  impressiveness  of  the  plot  culmination  and  climactic 
height. 

5.  Nevertheless,  well-built  plots  may  not  always  permit 
this  complete  telescoping  of  decisive  height  and  outcome. 
The  decisive  turn  of  events  does  not  always  make  plain 
to  the  reader  WHAT  the  outcome  is  to  be,  but  only  WHICH 
SET  of  conflicting  influences  is  to  prevail.     Indeed,  some 
stories  would  fail  of  their  effect  (cf.  par.  4),  and  some  plots 
would  refuse  to  yield  themselves  to  development,  if  this 
rule  were  universal.    The  surprise  story  especially  is  likely 
to  require  further  action  after  the  decisive  point  has  been 
reached ;  for  its  essential  characteristic  is,  the  springing  of 
an  unexpected  outcome  brought  about  by  a  set  of  influences 
which  only  at  the  very  last  are  seen  to  have  combined 
decisively  some  time  before. 


118  SHORT  STOEIES  iisr  THE  MAKING 

6.  In  stories  likewise  that  emphasize  character,  espe- 
cially those  that  present  character  transformed  as  the  result 
of  the  conflict  depicted  in  the  story,  it  may  be  necessary  to 
carry  on  the  action  after  the  decisive  moment;  for  what 
determines  the  outcome  may  merely  draw  this  outcome 
in  its  train,  not  include  it.     The  character  facts  may 
depend  upon  the  influences  which,  at  the  decisive  height 
of  the  plot,  combine  to  one  sure  result,  but  the  full  working 
out  of  which  may  not  yet  have  taken  place.     Therefore, 
to  enable  these  influences  fully  to  work  out  their  results 
on  the  character  they  affect,  additional  incident  and  action 
may  be  necessary.     Even  the  bare  fact  that  verisimilitude 
often  requires  the  impression  of  passage  of  time  between 
cause  and  effect  may  make  such  additional  incident  and 
action  advisable.     Very  often  these  considerations  hold 
also  when  applied  to  the  plot  story. 

7.  We  must  acknowledge,  therefore,  that  although  the 
telescoping  of  outcome  with  decisive  moment   is  highly 
effective  when  it  can  be  accomplished,  not  all  plots  will 
yield  to  it.     Wholly  legitimate  conte  plots  may  require 
further  action,   further  incident  and  situation,  to  carry 
them  forward  from  the  point  where  the  outcome  is  made 
sure  to  the  point  where  this  outcome  is  actually  reached. 
The  decisive  moment  is  not  always  decisive  except  as  we 
look  back  at  it;  and  it  often  is  not  sufficient  in  itself  to 
support  the  outcome  unless  reinforced  by  incident,  action, 
or  situation  following  it.     In  short,  after  the  outcome  has 
been  made  sure,  it  must  still  be  brought  to  pass;  and  to 
bring  it  to  pass,  completely  motivated,  and  at  last  to  present 
it  as  conclusively  the  result  of  the  whole  plot,  is  the  func- 
tion of  that  division  of  the  plot  termed  the  falling  action. 
In  other  ivords,  the  falling  action  brings  forward  and  corv- 


THEORY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT  119 

summates  what  tlie  rising  action  and  decisive  moment  have 
made  sure. 

8.  Illustration  of  these  explanations  will  make  them 
clearer.     In  The  Pope's  Mule   (Daudet),  the  plot  has  a 
clearly  distinguishable  stage'  of  falling  action,  or  resolution. 
The  height  of  the  plot 1S — that  is,  the  decisive  moment — 
comes  when  Vedene  so  maliciously  conducts  the  favored 
mule  to  the  top  of  the  great  tower,  thus  frightening  and 
humiliating  her  greatly.    From  that  time,  but  one  outcome 
is  possible:  the  mule  will  have  her  revenge.     But  the 
opportunity  for  it  must  be  created,  and  the  stage  prepared 
for  its  actual  accomplishment.     Hence  comes  the  addi- 
tional stage  of  the  plot,  wherein  this  outcome  is  prepared 
for.      Seven    years    she    waits    her    opportunity .     Then 
Vedene,  returning  from  long  service  away  from  Avignon, 
receives  the  appointment  he  has  asked,  and  is  taken  to 
see  the  beloved  mule  whom  he  pretends  so  to   admire. 
Only  then  has  the  outcome  been  sufficiently  motivated; 
only  then  is  the  famous  kick — the  kick  that  she  had  been 
saving  up  for  seven  years — ready  to  be  delivered — "  a 
kick  so  terrible,  so  terrible,  that  even  at  Pamperigouste  one 
could  see  the  smoke ;  a  cloud  of  yellowish  smoke  in  which 
fluttered  an  ibis  plume,  all  that  was  left  of  the  ill-fated 
Tistet  Vedene." 

9.  For  the  sake  now  of  understanding  what  is  meant 
by  the  uniting  in  one  situation  of  decisive  moment  and 
outcome,  let  us  tamper  a  little  with  Daudet's  plot.     The 
mischievous  Vedene  gets  the  poor  mule  to  the  top  of  the 
tower ;  she  brays  forth  her  terror ;  the  humiliating  process 
of  rigging  her  into  the  cradle  ready  for  lowering  back  to 

18  Remember   that  the  height  of   the  plot  is  not  necessarily  the 
climactic  moment  of  the  narrative. 


120  SHOET  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

earth  has  been  completed.  She  stands  waiting  to  be  swung 
off.  At  this  moment,  not  seven  years  later,  Vedene  comes 
within  reach  of  her  heels  and  receives  her  kick.  In  the 
very  moment  of  her  humiliation,  she  avenges  herself.  The 
plot  is  now  closed,  the  action  is  complete,  the  story  ended. 
In  every  respect  (perhaps)  except  one,  this  management 
of  the  outcome  is  more  effective  than  is  that  actually  used, 
in  which  a  period  of  falling  action  intervenes.  But  that 
one  respect  is  exceedingly  important :  it  is  this  long  waiting 
that  makes  the  kick  really  impressive.  In  the  story  as 
Daudet  produced  it,  we  gain,  from  the  long  years  through 
which  she  kept  it  burning,  an  idea  of  the  intensity  of  the 
mule's  hatred ;  in  the  plot  of  telescoped  height-and-outcome, 
no  such  impression  could  have  been  created.  The  mule's 
kick  in  the  telescoped  version  is  the  result  only  of  sudden 
anger  and  passionate  impulse.  In  this  instance,  then,  the 
form  with  falling  action  gives  us  a  longer  and  more  satisfy- 
ing period  of  suspense,  a  deeper  realization  of  mule  charac- 
ter and  motive,  and  a  higher  gratification  at  the  ultimate 
success  of  the  tremendous  kick. 

10.  Here  falling  action  clearly  has  advantages;  but 
such  is  not  always  the  case.  In  MarJcheim  (Stevenson) 
we  have  an  excellent  example  of  the  story  in  which  the 
turning-point  and  the  outcome  are  telescoped.  The  turn- 
ing-point is  that  where  Markheim's  conscience  succeeds  in 
making  him  realize  exactly  what  he  has  become  and  what 
— except  for  a  single  possibility — he  will  always  be  (but 
increasingly  worse  as  the  years  go  on) .  This  point  comes 
almost  at  the  close  of  the  story,  and  the  closing  lines  of 
the  story  itself  are  virtually  the  closing  lines  of  the  para- 
graphs in  which  this  climactic  situation  is  developed. 
Markheim  in  effect  says,  "  Well,  if  I  cannot  change  for 


THEORY  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  PLOT  121 

the  better,  I  can  at  least  prevent  myself  from  growing 
worse  in  this  terrible  way  " ;  and  thereupon,  going  to  the 
door,  he  throws  it  open  to  the  servant  and  says,  "  You 
had  better  go  for  the  police.  I  have  killed  your  master." 
Thus  his  last  act  closes  not  only  the  decisive  situation,  but 
also  the  plot  and  the  story.  De  Maupassant's  The  Coward 
presents  a  similar  example.  The  decisive  situation  is 
that  in  which  the  viscount,  shaken  by  fear  and  torn  be- 
tween impulse  and  reason,  mechanically  picking  up  the 
dueling  pistol,  finds  it  loaded.  Five  sentences  later,  "  he 
suddenly  thrust  the  pistol  into  the  very  bottom  of  his 
throat  and  pulled  the  trigger."  Three  more  sentences  end 
the  story  itself — and  these  three  are  not  needed. 

11.  The  question,  whether  to  telescope  or  not  to  tele- 
scope, will  therefore  be  answered  automatically  by  the  plot 
conception  itself.  According  to  the  requirements  of  the 
plot  as  ultimately  it  dictates  itself  to  the  writer's  construc- 
tive and  artistic  sense,  falling  action  will  or  will  not 
be  called  for.  But  when  it  is  not  called  for,  the  plot  and 
the  story  will  be  better  without  it. 


CHAPTEE  III 

THE  COMPOSITIONAL  CO1STSTEUCTION  OF 
THE  SHOET  STOEY 

XVII.  THE  OPENING  SEIZES  INTEREST,  INTRODUCES 
ACTION,  STRIKES  THE  KEYNOTE,  AND  (PERHAPS) 
CONVEYS  EXPOSITION 

1.  Up  to  this  point  we  have  considered,  first,  the  dis- 
tinguishing  characteristics   that   make,    and    second,   the 
theory  of  plot  as  it  affects,  the  short  story ;  and  incidentally 
we  have  given  attention  to  matters  belonging  rather  to  the 
story  in  the  completed  form  than  in  its  plot  outline.    Hav- 
ing treated  these  matters  and  emphasized  the  importance 
of  dramatic  plot  to  the  true  short  story  (conte),  we  can 
now  devote  our  attention  for  a  while  not  to  questions  of 
motivation — of  cause  and  effect  interacting  through  event 
and  character  toward  a  single  impressive  outcome — but  to 
the    compositional    construction    of  the    story — that    as- 
sembling and  manipulating  of  all  its  facts,  materials,  and 
parts  which  leave  it  (let  us  trust)  a  finished  work.     Our 
consideration  will  first  be  given  to  the  opening  of  the 
story.     The  function  of  the  opening  is : 

A.  To  seize  interest.     This  oftenest  results  from  (B). 

B.  To  begin  or  bring  on  the  action. 

C.  To  strike  the  keynote  of  the  story. 

D.  As  far  as  may  be  expedient,  to  convey  exposition. 

2,  In  discussing  plot,  we  noted  that  plot  sequence  is 


COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTRUCTION  123 

not  the  same  as  narrative  sequence,  or  dramatic  sequence. 
The  essential  sequence  of  incident  in  the  plot  is,  we  saw, 
the  time-sequence — cause  before  effect;  the  contributing 
facts  before  the  situation  and  outcome  they  produce.  But 
the  natural  sequential  order  may  be  altered  and  even  quite 
reversed  in  the  completed  narrative,  especially  as  the  inci- 
dent not  infrequently  is  more  important  for  the  facts  that 
gather  round  and  depend  up©n  it  than  it  is  merely  for  it- 
self;  so  that  it  is  managed  with  a  view  to  emphasizing 
these  accompanying  facts,  and  not  the  pure  incident.  We 
may  even  find  the  outcome  at  the  beginning  of  the  story, 
which  then  works  backward  to  those  facts  which  constitute 
the  beginning  of  the  plot.1  This  sort  of  disarrangement 
and  relocation  of  incident  and  of  other  facts  is  often  neces- 
sary for  dramatic  emphasis,  which  is  the  effect  sought  by 
the  conte. 

3.  For  we  are  not  to  understand  that  such  dislocation 
of  facts  from  the  natural  time  order  is  universal,  nor  that 
it  is  invariably  necessary  or  expedient.  The  time  order 
should  in  fact  be  varied  no  more  than  dramatic  effective- 
ness requires.  Yet  this  implies  that  the  artist,  in  handling 
his  materials,  often  must  deal  with  them  in  ways  that 
render  the  time  order — so  essential  in  the  earlier  processes 
of  plotting — impossible  in  the  story  as  it  finally  reaches 
the  reader.  For  in  that  stage  of  composition  in  which 
the  plot  is  transformed  from  a  bare  outline  of  incident 
into  an  artist's  conception  of  the  dramatic  significance  of 

1  This  is  in  general  the  method  of  the  mystery  story.  Beginning 
with  a  puzzling  outcome,  the  mystery  story  carries  the  reader,  but 
backward,  through  an  explanation  of  the  facts  that  explain  this 
outcome.  The  circle  is  completed  when  the  explanation  brings  the 
reader  back  at  the  close  to  the  same  outcome  with  its  mystery 
removed. 


124  SHOKT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

these  incidents  together  with  all  the  facts  of  every  sort 
involved  in  them  in  some  significant  hour  of  human  life 
— in  this  stage  of  composition  that  order  is  the  most 
logical  which  best  shows  forth  this  conception  with  a 
vividness  and  forcefulness  likely  to  impress  it  deeply  on 
the  reader.  We  are  to  remember,  therefore,  that  plot  se- 
quence and  narrative  sequence  are  different  things.  Both 
order  the  same  body  of  facts*  but  each  orders  them  as  re- 
quired by  its  peculiar  function  in  the  creating  of  the  com- 
pleted story,  the  one  seeking  to  make  clear  the  history  of  a 
certain  outcome,  the  other  seeking  to  make  clear  the  signifi- 
cance of  this  outcome  and  impress  it  on  the  reader. 

4.  From  what  has  been  said,  it  follows  that  the  begin- 
ning of  the  story  itself  may  contain  matter  not  found  in 
the  beginning  of  the  plot,  and  that  it  may  omit  matter  nec- 
essarily included  in  the  beginning  of  the  plot.2     In  other 
words,  the  beginning  of  the  story  may  be  different  from  the 
beginning  of  the  plot.     The  opening  of  the  story  may — > 

A.  Begin  the  action. 

B.  Begin  the  characterization. 

0.    Begin  the  creation  of  atmosphere,  presenting  either 
tonal,  environmental,  or  merely  setting  elements. 

D.  Begin  the  theme  presentation. 
Chat  is,  the  beginning  of  the  story  may  concern  itself  with 
material  especially  suited  to  the  purpose  of  any  one  of  the 
four  fundamental  types  of  short  story.  Moreover,  any  one 
of  these  four  types  of  beginning  is  likely  to  be  usable  in  any 
one  of  the  four  sorts  of  story,  although  not  all  the  types  of 
beginning  are  equally  suited  to  all  the  types  of  story. 

5.  This  means  that  in  the  whole  range  of  the  conte 
there  are  sixteen  possible  combinations  of  story  emphasis 

?  Before  the  stage  of  scenario,  or  action-plot. 


COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTRUCTION  125 

with  beginning  materials,  although  (of  course)  when  the 
single  story  is  in  question  the  possible  combinations  are 
only  four.  In  a  character  story,  for  example,  the  author 
can  at  the  very  opening  begin  his  emphasis  upon  character, 
or  he  can  open  rather  with  materials  that  belong  particu- 
larly to  the  action,  or  to  the  atmosphere,  or  to  the  theme. 
The  natural  and  usually  the  best  procedure  will  be,  to 
make,  'prominent  in  the  beginning  that  element  which  will 
be  most  prominent  in  the  completed  story — a  character 
story  taking  a  beginning  that  emphasizes  character,  a 
theme  story  opening  with  emphasis  on  the  theme,  an  action 
story  with  emphasis  upon  action,  and  an  atmosphere  story 
with  emphasis  upon  atmosphere.  This  procedure,  how- 
ever, although  highly  useful  in  many  instances,  and 
especially  in  "  striking  the  keynote  "  of  the  story,  is  by 
no  means  always  obligatory. 

6.  Accepting  the  rhetorical  theory  that  the  beginning 
of  any  piece  of  writing  is  a  place  of  great  importance  in  the 
giving  of  emphasis,  we  are  thus  led  to  lay  down  the  rule, 
subject  to  qualification,  that  the  beginning  of  a  story 
should  always  emphasize  that  one  of  the  story  elements 
which  the  story  itself  is  intended  to  emphasize.  But  this 
is  sound  theory  and  good  practice  only  when  it  is  not 
overdone.  We  must  not  lose  sight  of  everything  but  solely 
our  intended  effect;  we  must  remember  at  the  same  time 
that  this  effect  can  be  attained  only  through  the  skillful 
employment  of  various  means,  and  that  the  organization 
of  our  story  as  a  whole — the  assembling  of  its  materials, 
the  ordering  of  its  incidents,  the  working  in  .  and  sub- 
ordinating of  all  the  sub-effects  essential  to  the  production 
of  the  final  effect — may  call  for  numerous  adjustments 
involving  modification  of  general  principles.  The  rules 


126  SHOUT  STOKIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

of  art  are  plastic,  not  rigid,  and  its  materials  resemble 
modeling  clay  rather  than  cast  iron.  Any  one  of  many 
considerations  may,  therefore,  warrant  the  disregard  of 
the  rule  as  first  stated.  Accordingly,  the  more  practical 
and  general  rule  is  this :  In  the  opening,  use  that  material 
which  will  best  contribute  to  the  organization  and  effect 
of  the  story  as  a  whole;  remembering,  however,  that  at 
the  beginning  it  is  desirable  to  emphasize,  so  far  as  practi- 
cable, the  same  elements  as  are  to  be  especially  emphasized 
in  the  story  as  a  whole. 

7.  We  will  now  in  a  single  clause  emphasize  the  self- 
evident  truth,  that  the  opening  must  indispensably  have 
interest,  and  turn  to  consider  the  story  materials  from 
this  point  of  view.     First  of  all,  we  observe  that  all  four 
of  the  types  enumerated  above  are  beginnings  likely  to 
possess  interest  because  of  their  inherent  qualities.     In- 
terest, we  have  already  seen,  is  something  quite  different 
from  excitement  or  avid  pursuit  of  sensation,  being  the 
result  of  internal  quality  and  of  significance  to  the  plot, 
rather  than  of  external  characteristic.     It  is  roused  when- 
ever anything  is  brought  before  the  mind  that  by  reason  of 
its  nature,  its  intrinsic  qualities,  or  its  relationship  with 
other  matters,  has  power  to  command  attention ;  and  the 
human  mind   is   so  constituted  that   it   inclines   to  give 
attention    whenever    anything    closely    related    either    to 
human  life  or  to  the  individual  experience  through  which 
human  life  is  realized,  is  presented  to  it,  provided  that 
this  thing  is  so  presented  as  to  make  its  relationships  and 
significance  clear. 

8.  Accordingly,  men  instinctively  attend  to  that  where- 
in the  acts  of  other  men,  their  traits  of  character,  the  con- 
ditions   surrounding    and    influencing    their   lives,    or    a 


COMPOSITIONAL,  CONSTRUCTION  127 

conclusion  concerning  human  existence,  is  presented.  This 
is  equivalent  to  saying  that  they  instinctively  give  attention 
(or  tend  to  do  so)  whenever  action,  character,  atmosphere, 
or  theme  is  brought  before  them.  For  these  are  things 
that  of  their  very  nature  appeal  to  man  as  affecting  his 
daily  life,  or  entering  into  his  experience  of  it,  or  throwing 
light  on  the  problem  of  his  own  nature  and  destiny. 
Recognizing,  therefore,  the  wide  range  of  subject-matter 
which  thus  possesses  inherent  interest  quality,  we  see  that 
as  a  consequence  each  of  the  four  types  of  opening  is 
intrinsically  suitable  for  the  beginning.  A  propos  this 
topic,  more  will  be  said  in  pars.  12  and  15-21. 

9.  We  next  note  that  another  function  of  the  beginning 
is  filled  by  these  four  types.     This  function  is,  to  present, 
when  essential  to  the  narrative  plan,  and  in  other  cases 
when  reasonably  practicable,  all  or  part  of  the  facts  belong- 
ing to  the  plot  exposition.    Here  we  observe  again  that,  as 
acts,    character,    environing    conditions,    and    recognized 
truths  of  life  are  all  we  know  of,  seeming  to  bear  upon 
human  life,  so  they  are  all  that  can  be  made  use  of  in 
any  exposition.     Accordingly,  the  matter  of  these  begin- 
nings— acts,    character,    theme,    and    atmosphere — is   the 
sole  material  out  of  which  the  exposition  of  any  plot  (or 
indeed  any  plot  itself)  can  be  built  up.     Recalling  then 
the  general  principle,  that  the  expository  facts  are  best 
presented -earlier  rather  than  later  in  the  narrative,  we  can 
lay  down  another  rule  of  practice  for  the  story  writer: 
When  the  plan  of  narration  permits  it  and  the  unified 
effect  sought  will  not  suffer  by  it,  the  details  introduced 
at  the  opening  of  the  story  should  be  selected  with  a  view 
to  presenting  the  necessary  exposition. 

10,  This  brings  us  to  a  third  function  of  the  opening; 


128  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

namely,  striking  the  keynote  of  the  story — a  function 
of  great  importance.  By  "  striking  the  keynote "  we 
mean,  creating  a  sense  of  the  essential  quality  and  tone, 
of  the  attitude,  manner,  and  point  of  view,  of  the  story. 
By  a  well-managed  beginning,  the  reader  will  be  put  in 
sympathy — en  rapport — "  in  touch  " — with  what  is  to  fol- 
low. He  will  be  led  by  it  to  preperceive  (more  or  less  un- 
awaredly,  it  is  true)  the  attitude  of  mind  of  the  author,  the 
spirit  in  which  the  subject  is  to  be  handled,  the  mood  and 
tone  of  the  story  itself,  and  the  nature  (though,  of  course, 
scarcely  the  actual  event  itself)  of  the  outcome.  He  will 
begin  at  once  to  receive  somewhat  of  the  subjective  and 
emotional  impression  which  the  story  as  a  whole  is  planned 
to  produce.  We  will  not  insist  that  this  amounts  to 
saying  that  the  beginning  must  have  atmosphere ;  yet  that 
is  practically  what  it  does  amount  to.  And  when  we  reflect 
that,  after  all,  no  fiction  or  drama  is  thoroughly  good 
that  does  not  encompass  itself  with  an  atmosphere  (the 
product  of  truthfulness  and  naturalness  in  the  facts  them- 
selves and  the  reporting  of  them)  ;  that  no  play  or  narra- 
tive can  produce  a  perfect  total  effect  lacking  this  quality ; 
and  that  the  opening  of  the  story  will  inevitably  go  far 
toward  creating  in  us  the  impression  with  which  we  shall 
read  the  rest  of  the  narrative ; — when  we  reflect  on  these 
facts,  we  begin  to  realize  the  importance  of  striking,  at 
the  outset,  the  keynote  of  the  story. 

11.  The  opening  of  every  story  should  make  the  reader 
egin  to  feel  at  once  that  here  is  a  story  which  has,  not 
merely  "  a  name,"  but  also  "  a  local  habitation  "  —  a  story 
which  "  belongs  "  —which  deals  with  persons  and  things, 
with  acts,  motives,  emotions,  and  surroundings  such  as, 
no  matter  how  fanciful  or  impossible  they  may  be  in 


COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTRUCTION  129 

themselves,  are,  nevertheless,  as  here  presented  real 3  and 
self-consistent.  The  reader  must  be  made  to  sense  this 
reality,  to  sympathize  with,  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of, 
these  things,  to  catch  the  point  of  view,  the  outlook,  the 
purpose,  the  individuality,  tang,  and  tone,  of  the  narrative 
that  presents  them.  Without  being  thus  in  responsive 
understanding  of  the  nature  of  the  story,  he  is  unlikely  to 
read  further,  or  if  he  read,  to  do  so  blindly,  unsympatheti- 
cally,  and  non-appreciatively.  This  function,  therefore,  of 
the  opening — that  of  striking  the  keynote — is  exceedingly 
important.  The  prudent  writer  will  so  select  his  opening, 
and  so  present  its  details,  as  either  to  create  at  once  in 
the  reader  the  mental  attitude  and  imaginative  mood  that 
he  desires,  or  at  least  to  prepare  him  for  it. 

12.  On  the  importance  of  the  opening  as  a  means  of 
catching  attention,  so  much  has  been  said  by  many  critics 
that  the  present  writer  has  chosen  not  to  dwell,  in  the 
preceding  discussion,  insistently  on  that  topic.  This  does 
not  mean,  however,  that  he  thinks  the  catching  of  interest 
by  the  beginning  an  unimportant  matter,  but  that  he  is  a 
little  doubtful  whether  so  much  emphasis  on  particular 
aspects  of  the  matter  may  not  prove  misleading.  For  from 
feeling  strongly  the  necessity  of  attracting  attention  at 
the  outset,  to  striving  for  it  unduly,  is  but  a  step.  Hence 
he  here  gives  a  few  paragraphs  of  after  discussion  to  this 
ticklish  problem  of  the  opening  as  an  interest-catcher.  We 

* "  Real "  and  "  actual,"  as  already  noted,  are  not  synonymous. 
The  sensitiveness  of  the  mind  to  suggestion  is  such  that  even  the 
impossible  can  be  made  to  seem  real  to  the  imagination.  Poe's  tales 
"  deal  with  an  unreal  world,"  and  accordingly  have  an  atmosphere 
of  unreality.  But  while  we  are  under  the  spell  of  Poe's  narrative, 
this  "  world  of  unreality  "  seems  a  real  world  of  unreality,  and  its 
atmosphere  an  atmosphere  of  reaZ-seeming  unreality. 


130  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

are  now,  therefore,  to  take  up  expressly  consideration  of 
the  opening  as  a  means  of  getting  into  the  narrative 
action  and  of  creating  the  suspense  essential  to  increasing 
interest. 

13.  We  will  first  stop  long  enough  to  note  that  fiction 
materials  should  be  chosen,  not  merely  with  regard  to  in- 
trinsic interest,  but  also  with  regard  to  their  fitness  for 
narrative-dramatic  presentation.    We  have  seen  that  inter- 
est seems  inherent  in  anything  of  a  sort  that  touches  human 
life  in  general  or  associates  itself  with  the  experience  of 
the  individual;   and   as   there   is  nothing  in  the  known 
world  that  does  not  belong  either  in  one  or  in  both  of 
these  categories,  so  there  is  nothing  which  may  not  in  some 
set  or  other  of  circumstances  have  intrinsic  interest.    Noth- 
ing  is   uninteresting  in   itself  if  presented   so   that   its 
significance  appear. 

14.  Subject  to  one  important  qualification,  therefore, 
we  may  say  that  there  is  nothing  which  cannot  be  used  as 
material  in  the  opening  (or  in  any  other  part)  of  a  fiction 
narrative.    The  qualification  is,  that  no  material  is  suitable 
for   dramatic   fiction   narrative   which    does   not   submit 
itself  to   the  methods  of  dramatic  narrative.4    It  must 
not  only  be  tellable,  it  must  be  tellable  in  a  narrative 
that    obeys    dramatic    principles.     It    is    easy    to    agree 
that    philosophy    and    science    are    unsuited    for    short 
story    presentation — that     they    do    not    yield     readily 
to  presentation  in  dramatic  narrative.     Yet  the  reason 

4  Contemporary  drama  shows  how  unsafe  generalizations  are 
concerning  what  is  and  what  is  not  possible  material.  Brieux's 
Damaged  Goods,  for  instance,  stood  the  test  of  successful  if  not 
popular  stage  presentation,  yet  its  material  is  material  that  has 
been  held  quite  unsuited  to  dramatic  presentation — that  is,  un- 
amenable to  dramatic  technique. 


COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTRUCTION  131 

for  rejecting  such  material  must  be  one  of  con- 
venience and  expediency,  not  of  absolute  necessity;  for 
the  master  writer  finds  it  quite  possible  to  reduce 
philosophies  and  sciences  to  subjection,  and  to  make  them 
furnish  forth,  in  no  funeral-baked  fashion,  warm  meats 
for  the  dramatic  narrative.  Consequently,  IF  the  writer 
has  skill  to  find  concrete  dramatic  and  narrative  forms 
through  which  to  body  forth  the  facts  of  philosophy, 
science,  or  any  other  subject,  he  need  not  hesitate  to  in- 
troduce this  supposedly  unfit  material  into  his  work.  On 
the  contrary,  his  work  will  gain  in  clearness  of  under- 
standing and  breadth  of  view  whenever  it  thus  enriches 
and  energizes  itself  from  the  general  stores  of  human 
knowledge  and  experience.  Crude  as  is  the  old  morality 
play,  Everyman,  it  exemplifies  this  truth;  for  it  bodies 
forth  morality  and  religion  so  well  in  concrete  forms  5 
that  even  in  our  day — wherein  the  form  of  allegory  and 
the  morality  seems  strange,  and  the  religious  thought  per- 
haps remote  or  alien — this  old  dramatic  allegory  proves 
impressive.  Our  conclusion  must  be,  that  although  the 
writer  needs  to  be  exceedingly  cautious  how  he  introduces 
difficult  and  impliant  materials,  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  absolutely  unfit  material  if  the  writer  have  skill  and 
creativeness  to  find  for  it  concrete  forms  and  dramatic 
expression.6 

5  This  play  affords  an  excellent  illustration  of  what  is  meant 
by  the  expression  "  finding  concrete  forms."  In  it,  vice  is  actually 
a  person;  so  is  good  works;  so  is  death.  Similarly,  other  abstract 
ideas,  such  as  dying,  are  given  concrete  form  (Everyman,  a  person, 
descends  into  an  actual  grave,  etc.). 

8  "  Dramatic  "  is  here  equivalent  to  "  theatric  " — suited  to  presenta- 
tion by  the  methods  of  the  theater  (for  instance,  by  dialogue).  The 
term  having  sometimes  been  given  a  specialized  or  restricted 


132  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

15.  But  these  conclusions  are  perhaps  less  immediately 
important  than  is  the  one  which  we  will  now  take  up  for 
brief  discussion ;  namely,  that  the  principle  of  ar^opening- 
to-catch-interest  may  easily  be  overworked.     We  have  al- 
ready seen  how  extensive  is  the  available  material  having 
intrinsic  interest ;  but  in  the  struggle  to  create  a  beginning 
that  will  at  once  "  grip  "  the  reader,  the  writer  may  not 
only  slight  some  of  the  most  valuable  of  the  materials 
available,  but  also  be  led  into  adopting  some  form  of 
opening  that  is  flippant,  overwrought,  false  in  tone,  sen- 
sational,  or   otherwise   dishonest  to   fact,   life,   and   art. 
There  are  ways  (and  often  better  ways)  of  attracting  one's 
attention  other  than  slapping  him  in  the  face;  and  there 
are  ways  (and  often  better  ways)  of  arousing  interest  in 
a  story  other  than  that  of  "  putting  a  punch  "  in  it  at 
the  beginning  and  making  that  "  punch  "  a  punch  in  the 
reader's  "  wind." 

16.  In  truth,  the  cult  of  the  punch  has  been  a  little  over- 
cultivated.     There  are,  and  there  always  will  be,  many 
readers,  and  readers  well  worth  having,  who  appreciate  the 
interest  quality  of  other  than  the  slap-in-the-face  begin- 
ning, and  read  with  pleasure  openings  of  discursive  or 
philosophical  comment,  description,  and  what  not.     The 
one    reasonable   requirement  is,    that    the   opening   shall 
adequately  present  the  material  with  which  it  attempts 
to  deal,  shall  closely  relate  itself  to  the  story  as  a  whole, 

meaning  in  this  book,  "  theatric "  ought  to  be  used  in  its  stead 
in  such  assertions  as  that  in  the  text  above,  thus  noting  the 
difference  between  what  is  dramatic  and  what  is  theatric,  or 
especially  belonging  to  theater  presentation.  The  author  hopes  that 
he  has  nowhere  fallen  into  the  unjust  usage  whereby  "theatric" 
and  "  theatrical "  are  used  in  a  derogatory  sense — implying  what 
is  insincere  or  false,  or  affected  rather  than  natural  and  spontaneous. 


COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTRUCTION  133 

and  shall  with  satisfying  promptness  bring  us  to  the  action 
of  the  plot  itself.  The  writer,  therefore,  who  has  a  sub- 
ject or  a  plan  of  treament  that  in  its  best-organized  form 
calls  for  description,  comment,  reflection,  or  any  other 
such  manner  of  opening,  even  though  it  be  an  opening  of 
which  the  grip-the-reader  extremist  would  not  approve, 
need  as  an  artist  not  hesitate  to  employ  that  begin- 
ning. Rather,  as  an  artist,  he  should  hesitate  not  to 
employ  it. 

17.  Yet  the  practicing  author,  depending  on  his  type- 
writer for  an  income,  and  the  author  seeking  invariably 
that  form  which  is  best  adapted  to  the  particular  story 
then  in  hand,  will  not  despise  the  counsel  of  the  impressive 
opening.     To  the  natural  born  artist,  of  course,  advice 
and  caution  on  this  matter  is  scarcely  warrantable;  he 
will  build  his  stories  as  they  should  be  built,  and  their 
effect  will  take  care  of  itself.     Yet  even  he  should  be 
advised  of  the  conditions  which  (often  at  the  expense  of 
truer  literature)  enforce  the  principle  on  the  writer  who 
goes  to  market  with  his  wares.     To  see  the  reader  in  the 
editorial  office,  or  the  literary  agent  whose  business  it  is  to 
know  how  to  pick  what  the  editor  will  choose — to   see 
these  experts  in  public  (or  is  it  merely  editorial?)  taste 
snatching  at  the  beginning  of  a  manuscript,  then  perhaps 
giving  the  rest  of  the  story  only  a  glance  here  and  there, 
or  no  further  glance  at  all,  is  to  realize  how  much  depends, 
from  the  commercial  point  of  view,  on  the  beginning  that 
will  "  grip." 

18.  It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  the  story  which 
can  thus  "  jab  "  the  reader  with  its  first  paragraph,  or  even 
its  first  sentence,  stands  a  much  larger  number  of  chances, 
by  and  large,  of  meeting  acceptances  than  does  the  story, 


134  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

even  the  better  story,  lacking  such  a  "  punch "  at  the 
first.  Nor  is  the  result  of  this  by  any  means  all  bad. 
True,  sensationalism  and  similar  sins  have  been  part  of 
this  result.  But  so  has  been  also  a  sharper  inquiry  con- 
cerning the  nature  of  interest,  the  kinds  of  material  con- 
taining interest,  and  the  best  methods  of  handling  such 
materials  in  story  openings.  Consequent  on  this  has  come 
an  improvement  in  the  technique  of  openings,  and  a  closer 
weaving  into  the  narrative  of  all  the  fiction  materials. 
Unquestionably,  stories  on  the  whole  begin  better  than  they 
used,  even  when  they  employ  old-fashioned  materials  and 
types  of  opening. 

19.  Our  criticism,   therefore,   of  the  principle  which 
directs  the  employment  of  a  beginning  that  will  immedi- 
ately   "  grip "    the   reader,    is  partly   a   caution   against 
mistakenly  discarding  good  though  old  forms  under  the 
assumption  that  they  are  not  able  to  awaken  interest,  and 
a  protest  against  forced  and  sensational  methods  in  apply- 
ing  a  principle    itself   perfectly   sound   and   thoroughly 
useful.     Perhaps  even  the  caution  is  superfluous.     Art 
always  rids  itself  ultimately  of  false  conceptions  and  bad 
practice,  and  writers  even  of  the  day  are  freely  employing 
all  manner  and  styles  of  opening,  many  of  them  quite 
unhampered  by  slavish  subjection  to  the  theory  of  the 
initial  "  punch." 

20.  Through  this  discussion  of  intrinsic  interest,  and 
cautioning  against  subserviency  to   a   catch  phrase — the 
cant  "  slogan  "  of  a  literary  school  that  over-emphasizes 
what,   truly   conceived,   is    an   important    principle, — we 
come  now  to  a  direct  consideration  of  the  opening  as  a 
means  of  creating  suspense.     A  moment's  reflection  will 
show  that  suspense  is  really  the  key  to  the  effectiveness  of 


COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTRUCTION  135 

the  opening  when  the  opening  is  considered  in  relation  to 
the  story  as  a  whole.  The  opening  is  the  appetizer  that 
comes  before,  yet  is  part  of,  the  full  dinner ;  or  if  likening 
it  to  the  hors  d'ceuvre  seem  to  make  it  too  inessential  a 
part  of  the  meal,  we  may  call  it  the  first  course,  which 
begins  to  satisfy  our  appetite  and  yet  makes  us  more 
desirous  of  the  courses  yet  to  come ;  and  what  we  protested 
against  in  the  preceding  paragraphs  is  the  tendency  to 
make  of  the  opening  a  cocktail  instead  of  a  true  part  of 
the  meal.  For  the  beginning  is  part  of  the  meal,  and  the 
writer  of  stories  must  keep  in  mind  the  fact  that  it,  like 
every  other  division  of  the  story,  exists  not  for  its  own 
sake,  but  for  the  sake  of  the  story  as  a  whole  of  which  it  is 
a  part. 

21.  Hence  the  opening  must  be  conceived,  planned,  and 
managed  with  reference  to  the  whole  story;  and  as  the 
conte  has  ~bui  one  immediate  governing  aim — to  show  us 
persons  and  action — we  cannot  escape  the  conclusion  that 
the  opening  must  be  so  conceived,  planned,  and  managed 
that  it  cannot  fail  to  make  us  desirous  of  going  on  in 
order  to  see  these  persons,  and  the  events  of  which  they 
are  a  part.  This  is  what  we  mean  when  we  say  that  the 
beginning  should  "  grip  "  the  reader.  It  should  do  more 
than  merely  interest  him  in  its  own  subject-matter;  it 
should  make  him  desire  to  go  on  in  order  that  he  may 
see  something  more  important  that\  that  of  which,  merely 
by  itself,  the  opening  treats — who  the  persons  are ;  what 
their  character  is;  what  they  do  and  how  they  come  to 
do  it ;  why  they  are  what  they  are ;  what  truth  is  illustrated 
by  them  in  their  behavior;  and  what  sort  of  world  it  is 
wherein  they  thus  move  and  act.  .  This  sort  of  interest, 
this  desire,  it  is  that  is  commonly  meant  when  we  are 


136  SHORT  STOEIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

told  that  the  opening  event  should  have  "  interest "  and 
"  seize  "  the  reader.  From  this  point  of  view,  we  need 
noi,  when  we  are  selecting  a  beginning  for  any  story, 
trouble  ourselves  primarily  with  questions  about  the  in- 
trinsic interest  of  the  materials  used;  our  problem  is 
rather  so  to  select  and  manage  that  the  material  used  shall 
create  in  the  reader  the  desire  to  pass  on  from  the  opening 
to  the  continuation  of  the  story. 

XVIII.    THE    PURPOSES    OF    THE    OPENING    CAN    BE 
SERVED  BY  VARIOUS  KINDS  OF  BEGINNING 

1.  We  turn  now  to  more  immediately  practical  ques- 
tions of  technique  affecting  the  opening  of  the  story. 
The  opening  is  to  seize  interest,  strike  the  keynote,  begin 
the  action,  and,  when  practicable,  advance  the  exposition. 
What  are  the  means  by  which  the  writer  can  accomplish 
these  purposes?  The  four  things  which  the  opening  can 
immediately  7  present  are:  activity  (action  by  or  involving 
a  person  of  the  story,  whether  forming  an  integral  part 
of  the  true  plot-action  or  not)  ;  character;  theme;  setting. 
At  this  point  we  will  put  aside  further  special  emphasis 
upon  the  opening  as  a  means  of  advancing  plot  exposition, 
and  deal  only  with  its  function  in  striking  the  keynote 
and  creating  interest;  the  student  will,  however,  bear 

7  We  now  drop  for  the  present  consideration  of  atmosphere  as  a 
story  element,  confining  ourselves  to  the  less  extensive  term  "  set- 
ting." Atmosphere  can  be  presented  directly,  but  usually  it  is 
attained  indirectly — mediately  rather  than  immediately — through 
truth,  naturalness,  and  adequacy  in  the  presentation  of  other  es- 
sentials, with  due  regard  to  their  subjective  as  well  as  their 
objective  quality.  However,  the  substitution  leaves  us  still  concerned 
in  a  large  measure  with  what  is  essentially  atmosphere. 


COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTRUCTION  137 

in  mind  the  general  desirability  of  early  development 
of  the  exposition  unless  it  seem  best  managed  by  introduc- 
ing it  piecemeal  as  the  action  advances.  We  now  consider, 
then,  the  topic,  how  to  manage  the  opening  with  a  view 
to  securing  interest  (anticipatory  suspense)  and  striking 
the  keynote.  We  might  perhaps  omit  mention  of  the 
keynote ;  for  the  striking  of  the  keynote  at  the  beginning 
is  after  all  merely  another  device  for  getting  interest 
by  indicating  in  advance  that  tonal  quality  and  that 
attitude  in  treatment  which  will  have  so  much  to  do  in 
producing  the  total  effect.  On  the  other  hand,  as  the 
means  of  commanding  progressive  interest  lies  mainly 
in  the  creation  of  suspense,  we  shall  now  use  that  term 
largely  instead  of  "  interest." 

2.  For  the  sake  of  simplicity,  therefore,  we  can  say  that 
all  the  practical  problems  of  managing  the  opening  can  be 
solved  by  attending  to  the  requirement  of  suspense.  True, 
the  opening  must  not  be  uninteresting  in  itself;  but  this 
it  is  not  likely  to  be  if  it  relate  itself  closely  and  organically 
with  the  rest  of  the  story  (especially  perhaps  with  the 
plot  and  with  the  tone  or  atmosphere).  Well-managed 
openings,  then,  may  create  suspense  by : — ? 

(a)  Giving  setting. 

( b)  Delineating  character. 

(c)  Suggesting  the  tone  or  spirit  of  the  story. 

(d)  Plunging  at  once  into  incident. 

(e)  Presenting   some   general   proposition,   or  theme, 

which  the  story  is  to  illustrate. 

(f)  Providing  necessary  antecedent  explanation  (much 

skill    is    necessary  to    make   mere    expository 
matter  produce  suspense). 


138  SHOUT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

(g)  Flinging  some  merely  stimulative  expression  or 
fact  at  us  just  to  catch  attention  (an  inartistic 
method  at  the  best ;  at  its  worst,  flippant,  false, 
sensational,  and  offensive — the  "  flash  "  manner 
of  a  literary  "  con  "  game.  Of  course,  when 
the  story  is  legitimately  told  throughout  in  this 
manner — as  it  might  be,  for  instance,  in  depict- 
ing character — the  expression  warrants  itself  as 
striking  the  keynote). 

In   well-managed   openings,    several    of    these    ends   are 
usually  accomplished  at  one  and  the  same  time. 

3.  We  next  ask,  what  shall  be  our  manner  of  approach 
to  the  opening?  To  determine  this,  we  must  first  deter- 
mine, among  other  things,  who  shall  tell  the  story.  Of 
course,  the  writer  is  always,  in  one  sense,  the  narrator ;  he 
does  the  writing.  But  shall  he  write  it  as  himself,  or  as 
some  one  else  ?  If  he  tell  it  as  himself,  shall  he  tell  it  (a) 
with  complete  impersonality,  keeping  himself  absolutely 
and  wholly  out  of  it,  or  (b)  with  some  degree  of  personal- 
ity, letting  himself  as  a  recognized  individual  show  forth 
in  the  narration,  indicating  by  direct  comment  or  other 
means  his  own  point  of  view  concerning  the  theme,  persons, 
acts,  and  opinions  appearing  in  the  narrative,  and  thus  in- 
jecting himself,  a  sort  of  extraneous  author-chorus?  Or 
if,  on  the  other  hand,  he  tell  it  as  if  he  were  some  one 
else,  shall  he  (c)  tell  it  in  the  guise  of  a  person  actually 
having  part  in  the  story,  either  as  chief  actor  or  a  secondary 
actor  or  even  an  unimportant  spectator,  or  shall  he  instead 
(d)  tell  it  as  one  who  was  himself  outside  the  story  and 
yet  is  not  identical  with  the  author  who  chances  to  be 
the  one  to  set  down  the  narrative  ? 


COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTRUCTION  139 

4.  Each  of  these  methods  has  disadvantages   (we  will 
not  stop  to  discuss  them  here)  ;  but  before  he  can  make  up 
his  mind  just  how  to  approach  the  opening,  the  writer  must 
have   decided   which   of   them   he   will   use.      With   this 
decision  out  of  the  way,  the  ground  is  cleared  for  selection 
among  the  various  forms  of  beginning.     Experience  will 
prove  to  him  that  every  one  of  these  forms  can  be  employed 
more  or  less  effectively  in  getting  before  the  reader  the 
facts  implied  in  the  catalogue  given  in  paragraph  2 ;  and 
any  good  opening,  moreover,  will  nearly  always  accomplish 
more  than  one  of  the  several  aims  there  outlined.     We 
will  consider  some  of  them. 

5.  In  making  choice  of  an  opening,  the  writer  will  first 
(let  us  say)  choose  between  THE  DIALOGUE  AND  THE  NON- 
DIALOGUE  FORM.    Dialogue  (by  which  is  here  meant  direct 
speech  in  the  mouth  of  any  one  directly  appearing  at  the 
moment  as  a  person  in  the  story)  would  seem  to  offer  a 
particularly  effective  form  of  beginning,  the  more  so  as  it 
introduces  without  delay  persons  in  action.     We  need  not, 
therefore,  attach  especial  importance  to  statistics  which  in- 
dicate that  only  some  ten  per  cent,  of  short  stories  actually 
employ  this  form  of  beginning.     True,  the  narrative  plan 
decided  on,  and  the  spirit  in  which  the  story  is  conceived, 
have  much  to  do  with  the  rejection  or  employment  of 
direct   quotation.     In  some   narratives,   dialogue   at  the 
beginning  would  be  quite  unsuitable. 

6.  On  the  other  hand,  to  some  stories  it  would  be 
thoroughly  adapted.    It  is,  for  instance,  an  almost  invari- 
able accompaniment  of  action.     In  stories  opening  with 
incident,  therefore,   the  opening  may  take  the  form  of 
speech — really  part  of  the  action,  and  helping  it  forward. 
Again,  speech  is  a  valuable  means  of  character  portrayal : 


140  SHORT  STOKIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

"  Thy  speech  bewray eth  thee."  To  put  significant  expres- 
sions on  the  lips  of  a  person  when  we  are  just  meeting  him 
in  the  story,  is  a  quick  and  sure  way  to  give  us  an  impres- 
sion of  his  character.  Again,  speech  frequently  becomes 
suggestive,  not  merely  of  character,  mood,  and  act,  but  of 
the  surroundings;  a  few  words  naming  actual  details, 
introduced  into  the  dialogue,  may  effectually  outline  the 
setting.  In  short,  the  opening  of  direct  speech,  when  the 
plan  and  nature  of  the  story  permit  it,  is  thoroughly  useful 
and  effective.8 

7.  Yet  again,  then,  we  return  to  the  desirability  of  IN- 
TEREST (SUSPENSE)  IN  THE  OPENING,  and  the  means  of  at- 
taining it.  Frankly,  the  most  important  of  these  means  is 
action.  There  is  interest  in  setting,  character,  atmosphere, 
and  theme,  but  that  opening  will  be  most  effective  which, 
in  giving  us  these  things,  gives  them  to  us  embodied  in 
or  as  accompaniments  of  action.  That  this  action  be 
plot-action  is  highly  desirable,  but  is  not  indispensable; 
it  may  be  merely  activity  (but  significant  activity) — - 
simply  an  introductory  episode  or  incident  of  the  concen- 
trative  class.  But  if  activity  there  be — something  moving, 
something  doing,  whether  that  something  be  or  be  not 
indispensable  to  the  plot— by  that  very  fact  attention  will 

8  Reread  par.  4 ;  observe  how  dialogue  can  at  one  and  the  same 
time  explain  situation,  advance  the  action,  indicate  setting,  portray 
character,  make  us  feel  the  general  tone  of  the  situation  or  the 
mood  of  the  speaker  or  the  story,  etc.  This  will  impress  the  fact, 
that  any  good  opening  can  accomplish  several  purposes  at  once. 
The  more  the  beginning,  by  presenting  well-related,  carefully  chosen 
detail,  compresses  into  small  compass  and  coherent  form  the  various 
story  elements  at  the  outset,  the  greater  its  interest  and  effectiveness. 
The  "  compression "  so  often  insisted  on  as  characteristic  of  the 
conte  is  merely  such  management  of  detail  throughout  the  story, 
whereby  several  ends  are  accomplished  by  single  means. 


COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTKUCTION  141 

be  more  immediately  commanded,  with  the  likelihood  that 
it  will  continue  and  increase. 

8.  For  when  all  is  said  and  done,  the  conte  exists  to 
show  us  persons  acting;  hence  the  sooner  any  story  gets 
action  going,  the  sooner  it  will  begin  to  show  us  that  for 
which  it  most  immediately  exists.    Even  character  delinea- 
tion, unless  given  through  action,  will  be  less  interesting 
(in  the  more  immediate  sense  of  the  word)  than  action. 
It  will  show  us  man,  but  it  will  not  show  us  men  in  action ; 
and  it  is  to  see  men  in  action  that  we  buy  our  ticket  to 
the  short  story  show.     Reasonably  interpreted,  therefore, 
the  rule  which  prescribes  action,  or  at  least  significant 
activity,  as  an  important  part  of  the  opening  of  any  short 
story,  is  a  rule  of  great  importance.     The  writer  who, 
without  sacrificing  other  qualities,  and  without  maJcing 
his  method  merely  one  of  mannerism  or  sensation,  shows 
us  always  something  doing  from  the  first,  thus  creating 
not  only  present  attention,  but  also  that  forward-looking 
eagerness  that  we  term  suspense,  has  successfully  met  one 
of  the  most  positive  requirements  of  the  art  of  short  story 
dramatics. 

9.  Some   further   observations   concerning  the   fiction 
elements  likely  to  enter  into  the  opening,  and  their  skillful 
management,  may  be  worth  while.     To  the  inexperienced 
writer,  it  may  seem,  for  instance,  that  the  importance  of 
the  SETTING  to  a  just  appreciation  of  the  story  warrants  the 
placing  of  setting  at  the  very  opening.     And  he  may  be 
right,  the  more  so  as  such  placing  helps  to  get  this  material 
out   of   the    way    at   once.      The    setting   is    important, 
especially  in  atmosphere  stories;  yet  that  does  not  mean 
that  it  should  all  be  bunched  and  huddled  into  one  long 
initial  passage,  especially  if  this  passage  be  direct  descrip- 


142  SHORT  STOKIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

tion.  Such  was  the  older  method,  but  it  is  not  the  modern 
practice.  Even  in  the  novel,  modern  technique  now  usually 
shuns  the  descriptive  panorama  as  an  opening,  preferring 
to  place  description  (if  anywhere  it  describes  at  length)  in 
chapters  which  lie  buried  within  the  narrative.  In  the 
conte,  the  most  probable  exception  will  be  found  in  the 
story  that  emphasizes  atmosphere.  The  atmosphere  story 
is  likely  to  draw  much  of  its  atmosphere  effects  from  the 
setting,  and  it  therefore  shows  some  tendency  to  employ 
description  more  freely  and  to  introduce  it  earlier  than 
do  other  stories. 

10.  Yet  if  this  tendency  be  indulged,  it  must  be  kept 
under  control.  Even  in  such  a  story  as  The  Merry  Men, 
written  by  Stevenson  as  an  atmosphere  story — the  fictional 
embodiment  of  the  spirit  of  a  grim,  rock-barriered,  storm- 
leaguered  Hebridean  coast — the  narrative  does  not  begin 
immediately  with  atmosphere  elements.  It  opens  with 
action  (indirect).  Not  until  he  wrote  some  250  words 
narrating  action  and  preliminary  fact,  and  giving  character 
forecast,  did  Stevenson  begin  description;  and  even  then 
the  description  is  given  excuse  for  appearing  through  being 
made  the  setting  for  further  indirect  action  (the  walk 
by  which  the  young  man  who  is  supposed  to  relate  the 
facts  and  to  have  taken  part  in  the  incidents,  makes  his 
approach  to  the  scene  of  the  main  action).  Thus,  even 
though  all  the  first  chapter  is,  broadly  speaking,  concerned 
with  the  description  of  setting,  its  description  is  mingled 
throughout  with  elements  of  action  and  exposition  and 
with  character  forehints.  Without  further  discussion, 
therefore,  we  may  conclude  that  lengthy  descriptive  pas- 
sages at  the  beginning  are  likely  to  prove  incompatible  with 
the  prompt  creation  of  suspense. 


COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTRUCTION  143 

11.  The  beginning  of  The  Merry  Men  can  give  us 
other  suggestions  if  we  turn  aside  here  to  take  note  of 
them.     The  advantages  and  disadvantages  found  in  use  of 
the  distributed  exposition  instead  of  the  massed  have  been 
noted.     Chapter  I  of  The  Merry  Men  may  be  taken  as  a 
double-header  illustration  of  the  principle.     Various  es- 
sential bits  of  information  about  the  locality,  the  young 
man,  the  uncle  who  is  the  central  character,  his  old  servant 
(another  secondary   actor),   and  the  long-past  events   of 
history  that  later  enter  into  the  plot,  are  scattered  through 
it,   offsetting  and  enlivening  the  more  solid  descriptive 
parts.     On  the  other  hand,  regarded  as  merely  the  begin- 
ning of  the  complete  story,  the  chapter  represents  in  a 
considerable  degree,  not  the  distributed  but  the  massed 
exposition. 

12.  Digressing  somewhat  more,  we  may  observe  the 
skill  with  which,  towards  the  close,  this  chapter  makes  the 
description  that  it  contains  bring  on  the  narrative  passage 
informing  us  of  the  wreck — long  before — of  the  Spanish 
treasure  ship  of  the  Armada,   desire   to   salvage   which 
motivates  the  events  and  complication  of  the  plot.     Yet 
while  all  this  preliminary  information  is  being  got  before 
us,  more  immediate,   although   indirect,   action  is  going 
on — the  advance  of  the  young  man  toward  his  uncle's 
house  and  the  scene  of  the  main  action.     Hence,  not  only 
with  regard  to  the  presentation  of  setting,  but  also  with 
reference  to  other  functions  of  the  opening,  this  chapter 
repays  study. 

13.  Further  thus:  It  illustrates  one  form  of  opening 
in  stories  wherein  the  author  writes,  not  as  himself,  but 
as  another  person — one  who  has  been  an   actor  in  the 
events  he  reports  (par.  3,  C).    A  severe  stretching  of  the 


144:  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

term  dialogue  might  even  bring  this  opening  into  the 
class  of  dialogue  beginnings.  But  it  would  not  belong 
there,  for  the  speech  of  the  actor-narrator  is  addressed  now 
to  the  reader;  is  not  speech  belonging  to  the  time  of  the 
action  or  entering  into  the  original  action  in  any  way, 
and  besides,  so  far  as  the  plot  is  concerned,  presents  only 
indirect  action.  That  is,  though  it  is  words  from  the 
mouth  of  an  actor,  it  is  not  words  from  his  mouth  at  any 
time  when  he  is  engaged  in  the  incidents  of  the  story. 
Therefore,  it  is  not  in  any  true  sense  dialogue  (plot,  charac- 
ter, or  action  speech  forming  part  of  the  action  itself). 
Before  getting  back,  therefore,  closer  to  our  present  topic, 
we  can  only  note  here  the  fact  that,  when  setting  is  given 
as  part  of  the  dialogue  content,  it  can  not  often  be  given 
in  detail;  for  little  natural  and  spontaneous  conversation 
is  of  a  sort  to  permit  long  descriptions.  When  landscape 
or  other  setting  is  touched  on  in  ordinary  converse,  it  is 
likely  to  have  roused  some  emotion  in  the  spectator  which 
he  expresses  rather  in  exclamation  than  in  any  directly 
descriptive  phrase;  so  that  its  nature  is  frequently  indi- 
cated indirectly  by  the  impression  which  it  is  seen  to 
produce  on  the  beholder.  Moreover,  even  when  pointing 
out  the  "  features  "  of  a  scene,  people  nowadays  seldom 
talk  long  descriptions,  whatever  they  used  to  talk  in  an 
earlier  period  of  fiction.9  Both  shorter  speeches  and 

9  To  one  who  trusts  that  contemporary  literature  a  little  more 
truly  answers  the  universal  purpose  of  literature — the  accurate 
portrayal  of  existence — than  did  any  writings  of  the  past,  the  care 
with  which  it  attempts  to  report  conversation  in  such  language 
as  is  individually  typical  and  characteristic,  seems  significant. 
Literature  that  is  striving  for  accuracy  of  report  even  in  minor 
matters,  and  is  succeeding  in  its  effort,  is  not  retrogressive  nor  de- 
cadent— not  even  though  judged  by  critics  whose  standards  are 


COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTRUCTION  145 

shorter  and  more  broken  sentences  are  characteristic  of 
most  spontaneous,  natural  conversation.  Although,  there- 
fore, many  settings  cannot  be  detailed  at  length  in  dialogue, 
their  effect  and  their  most  notable  characteristics  can  be 
suggested  or  mentioned;  but  for  the  full  and  detailed 
account  we  must  (a)  either  resort  to  the  massed  passage  of 
description  or  (b)  depend  on  facts  that  can  be  introduced 
briefly  and  quickly,  and  distributed  skillfully,  among  the 
speeches.  An  extended  description  can  seldom  be  intro- 
duced into  a  single  speech,  and  cannot  always  be  so  intro- 
duced even  in  a  connected  series  of  speeches,  or  passage 
of  dialogue  description. 

14.  Our  conclusion  is,  that  facts  of  setting  so  introduced 
in  dialogue  must  be  chosen  for  their  suggestive  power  and 
high  descriptive  effect — for  value  rather  than  for  amount. 
The  same  is  true  when  they  are  given  along  with  any  other 
form  of  action.  They  must  be  impressively  representative 
facts,  sure  to  accumulate  in  the  reader's  mind  as  the 
definite  and  leading  characteristics  of  a  unified  set  of  sur- 
roundings. The  reader  then  creates  for  himself,  through 
the  co-operation  of  his  own  imagination,  the  more  complete 
picture  of  this  setting. 

To  illustrate: 

"  Get  back  there !  Gtet  back !  Keep  'em  from  crowding 
in,  Bill." 

conservative  OF  reactionary — men  whose  taste  has  been  formed  on 
older  models,  and  who  lack  the  adaptability  or  the  creative 
adjustment  to  orient  themselves  in  the  present  and  thus  appreciate 
the  work  of  the  present.  Unfortunately,  our  educational  machine 
finds,  in  the  material  supplied  it,  many  heads  made  .of  suitable 
wood  to  be  polished  off  after  the  old  patterns,  but  only  now  and 
then  one  that  can  be  trained  and  developed  in  the  growing  state. 


146  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

"Is  he  hurt  bad?" 

"  Got  his,  I  guess.  Smashed  up  pretty  well  anyhow. 
Notify  the  station  and  get  in  an  ambulance  call  quick. 
I  can't  do  anything.  Did  any  of  you  fellows  get  the 
number  of  that  machine  ?  " 

Here  are  fifty  words  of  dialogue.  Let  us  put  the  same 
facts  in  another  form — narrative  and  outright  description : 

The  policeman  bent  over  the  twisted,  unconscious  form, 
lying  without  movement  in  the  street  where  the  automobile 
had  flung  it.  His  mate  from  the  next  corner  ran  up  to 
join  him,  and  the  quickly  gathered  crowd  of  curious  or 
morbid  passers-by  and  street-frequenters  pressed  around, 
pushing  to  get  over  one  another's  shoulders  a  sight  of 
human  broken  bones  and  blood. 

"  Get  back  there !  Get  back !  Keep  ?em  from  crowding 
in,  Bill,"  the  officer  directed. 

The  crowd  fell  back  reluctantly  before  the  second 
officer,  unwilling  to  lose  anything  of  the  free  show,  and 
avid  even  of  such  useless  prominence  as  standing  in  the 
front  row  of  the  spectators  of  disaster  and  being  able 
to  recount  intimately  its  details  to  the  unimportant  persons 
who  weren't  there  to  see  it. 

"  He's  smashed  up  pretty  well.  Looks  like  he's  dead. 
I  can't  do  anything.  Turn  in  an  ambulance  call  quick." 

The  policeman  slipped  the  man's  slouch  hat  in  a  soften- 
ing wad  between  its  owner's  head  and  the  pavement,  and 
while  his  companion  was  at  the  telephone,  methodically 
set  down  names  and  addresses  of  witnesses,  with  such 
information  as  he  could  gather  about  the  accident  and  the 
number  and  appearance  of  the  automobile. 


COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTRUCTION 

15.  Compare  now  the  two  forms  of  opening.     In  sub- 
stance, each  gives  the  same  information,  either  telling  out- 
right or  suggesting  (a)  setting,  (b)  action,  and  (c)  situa- 
tion.   The  second  opening  is  longer  than  the  first,  and  may 
seem  to  present  more  interpretive  or  descriptive  fact.    But 
really  it  does  not  do  so;  for  whatever  it  tells  out  in  full 
is  readily  supplied  from  his  own  knowledge  by  any  reader 
who  is  at  all  acquainted  with  street  accidents  and  the 
crowds  that  attend  upon  them.     Unless,  therefore,  it  be 
desirable  to  picture  and  analyze  in  order  to  meet  the  needs 
of   less    imaginative    or    less    experienced    readers,10    the 
dialogue  form  has  decided  superiority,  because  of  its  com- 
pactness, rapidity,  and  adequate  suggestion  of  all  essentials 
presented  by  the  fuller  opening.11 

16.  Either  of  the  two  openings  given  above  is  sufficient 
to  enlighten  the  reader  on  two  main  questions  in  which 
he  is  always  interested :  what  has  happened  or  is  happening 
(the  present  situation),  and  the  place  of  its  happening. 
But  they  do  not  give  information  on  certain  other  matters 
such  as  are  frequently  presented  in  the  opening  or  early  in 
the  development.    They  do  not  tell  us  who  the  injured  man 
is,  nor  even  give  us  a  hint  of  him  otherwise,  except  that 
(second  opening)  he  wears  a  slouch  hat.     Both  leave  us 

10  Herein  is  a  pointed  hint  to  writers  of  juvenile  stories. 

11  As  a  corollary,  we  may  mention  this:   The  extent  to  which  an 
opening — or  other  passage — shall  interpret,  analyze,  narrate  acts,  or 
picture  forth  in  detail,  must  be  determined  by   (a)   the  degree  of 
realizing  imagination  which  the  reader  may  "be  assumed  to  possess, 
and   (b)   his  probable  familiarity  with  and  understanding  of  such 
places,  incidents,   settings,   and  motives   as   are   involved;   together 
with    (c)    the    author's    general    plan    and    purpose    in    the    story, 
this  determining  the  introduction  or  exclusion  of  particular  material 
according  to  its  usefulness   in  striking  the  keynote  or   laying  the 
foundation   for   later   emphasis. 


14:8  SHOET  STOEIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

to  guess  for  the  present  whether  this  man  is  to  be  the 
central  person  in  the  story;  we  may  find  later  that  the 
man  in  the  automobile  is  the  central  figure,  or  that  figure 
may  possibly  be  the  policeman,  or  even  some  one  not  indi- 
cated at  all  yet — say  another  man  in  an  automobile,  who 
stops  to  make  inquiries  and  offers  to  take  the  victim  to 
the  hospital  before  the  ambulance  arrives.  Neither  can 
we  tell  certainly  that  all  the  action  will  not  work  itself 
out  in  the  next  few  minutes  at  this  one  spot  in  the  street, 
although  we  rather  think  that  the  setting  will  shift.  Again, 
this  incident  may  be  only  an  introductory  or  ancillary 
episode  employed  merely  for  its  effectiveness  as  an  opening. 
Neither  can  we  tell  whether  this  opening  incident  signifi- 
cantly sounds  the  keynote  of  the  story ;  we  rather  think  not, 
for  it  seems  tuned  to  action  rather  than  to  tone.  But  all 
such  matters  will  come  to  light  fully  as  the  narrative  pro- 
ceeds— and  only  then  shall  we  be  able  to  say  flatly  that 
they  should  have  been  or  need  not  have  been  brought  out 
at  the  beginning.  For  we  recall  that  on  the  whole  the 
opening  performs  its  chief  function  when  it  so  puts  us  in 
suspense  that  we  wish  to  read  on.  Indeed,  this  very 
failure  to  satisfy  outright  curiosity  that  has  been  piqued, 
may  be  the  author's  means  of  creating  the  suspense.  The 
effect  to  be  thus  gained  by  courting  curiosity,  or  interest, 
and  satisfying  it  only  by  degrees,  shows  the  importance, 
as  narrative  devices,  of  suspense  and  distributed  informa- 
tion. 

17.    Approximately    the    same    comment    applies    to 

x  CHARACTER  as  applies  to  setting  in  the  opening.    It  may  be 

presented  outright   in  massed   statement,   or  it  may  be 

suggested  and  indicated  bit  by  bit  through  significant  fact 

presented  in  the  advancing  dialogue  and  action.     And  in 


COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTRUCTION  149 

each  instance,  the  massed  and  formal  presentation  usually 
proves  the  less  successful.12  Indeed,  the  formal,  massed 
opening,  presenting  any  sort  of  preliminary  or  accessory 
fact,  is  virtually  nothing  but  an  "  introduction  " — and  in>- 
troductions  belong  to  an  earlier  and  (so  we  judge)  less 
expert  literary  method. 

18.  In   truth,    not    only    method   but    also   taste   has 
changed.     To  depend  upon  the  "  introduction  "  as  a  form 
of  opening,   even  though  the   introduction  be  made  the 
carrier  of  the  exposition  and  other  essentials  to  an  under- 
standing of  the  story,  is  to  court  rejection  by  many  editors 
and  by  a  good  many  readers.     The  modern  story  needs  a 
direct  or  immediate  form  of  opening  rather  than  an  indirect 
or  mediate  form.    We  are  at  once  to  "  get  down  to  brass 
tacks."    For  on  the  whole,  that  interested  looting-forward 
which  we  term  suspense  is  not  to  be  created  13  by  anything 
but  action,  or  at  least  the  promise  of  action  fast  approach- 
ing.   Only  in  exceptional  instances  will  the  intrinsic  inter- 
est of  the  materials  be  sufficient  to  arouse  anticipating 
eagerness — the  desire  to  run  forward  with  the  story,  not  to 
linger  (pleasantly,  perhaps,  but  aimlessly)  with  the  mere 
accessories  of  situation  and  action.     Persons  acting:  that 
is  what  the  reader  desires ;  we  cannot  assert  it  too  often. 

19.  This  explains  why  action  is  so  desirable  even  at  the 
beginning.     The  reader  will  consent  to  be  concerned  with- 
setting    and    atmosphere,    background,    character    traits, 
theme  and  philosophizing  as  fiction  materials,  only  when 

12  The  writer  will  gain  by  describing  his  characters  fully  in 
separate  analyses  or  summaries,  keeping  these  descriptions  by  him  for 
reference  as  notes,  but  not  incorporating  them  bodily  in  his  story. 

18  Once  created,  however,  it  can  be  continued  by  other  means. 
Thus,  in  the  falling  action,  it  is  sustained  by  our  anticipation  of 
the  outcome — our  desire  to  see  the  fulfillment  of  the  plot. 


150  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

these  things  have  a  significance  outside  themselves  and  in 
the  action  whereof  they  are  the  mere  convoy.  True,  they 
may  motivate  this  action,  modify  it,  explain  it,  further  it, 
hinder  it — in  brief,  make  it.  Yet  it  is  the  action  that 
gives  them  their  vitality,  significance,  and  function.  Even 
character,  which  in  an  earlier  division  of  this  book  we 
named  as  being  closest  to  life  itself  in  interest  for  the 
human  mind,  depends  on  action  for  dramatic  presentation. 
For  not  until  the  deed  is  done  is  the  character  back  of  it 
made  manifest.  Hence  the  indirect  opening  of  philosophi- 
cal comment — an  opening  which  both  the  theme  and  the 
character  story  find  of  frequent  use — is  to  be  adopted  only 
when  all  these  considerations  have  been  carefully  weighed 
anew  with  reference  to  the  particular  story  in  hand;  and 
unless  it  clearly  recommend  itself  because  of  its  especial 
fitness  and  applicability  in  the  particular  case,  it  is  to 
be  rejected  in  favor  of  an  opening  surer  to  rouse  a  forward- 
looking  attention  and  directly  advance  the  true  action  of 
the  story. 

20.  Attempting  now  a  SUMMARY  of  essential  facts  about 
the  opening  as  a  division  of  the  conte,  we  say :  The 
function  of  the  opening  is,  to  seize  interest,  strike  the  key- 
note, introduce  action,  and  convey  exposition.  Its 
materials  must  not  merely  have  intrinsic  interest,  but 
must  be  so  managed  that  they  create  suspense — anticipative 
desire.  The  surest  means  of  creating  suspense  is  the 
presentation  of  action,  and  action  should,  therefore,  be 
introduced  early,  if  not  at  the  very  first;  dialogue  is  a 
rorm  of  action.  The  fiction  elements  which  the  opening 
ay  present,  or  out  of  which  it  may  be  built  up,  are  action, 
character,  setting,  and  theme  (atmosphere  is  sought  more 
mediately;  it  comes  from  accurate  reporting).  In  well- 


COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTRUCTION  151 

managed  openings,  several  of  the  purposes  of  the  opening 
are  accomplished  at  once.  Openings  may  be  direct  or  in- 
direct; immediate  or  mediate;  dynamic  or  static  (active  or 
passive)  ;  and  may  either  distribute  their  information  or 
mass  it.  The  massed  opening  is  generally  of  the  indirect, 
mediate,  static  type,  and  of  the  nature  of  formal  introduc- 
tion rather  than  of  dramatic  opening,  and  the  immediate, 
direct,  dynamic  type  is  to  be  preferred  unless  the  con- 
ception, aim,  tone,  or  plan  of  the  story  as  a  whole  makes 
such  a  beginning  unsuitable. 

21.  Finally,  we  should  note  that,  when  once  the  writer 
has  mastered  the  technique  of  his  craft,  he  should  there- 
after— whether  in  the  opening  or  elsewhere — allow  his  im- 
agination and  personality  free  play,  subjecting  the  tech- 
nique to  his  purposes  rather  than  subjecting  himself  to 
his  technique.  For  after  all,  the  technique  is  but  the 
means  of  securing  adequate  expression  of  that  which  the 
man  and  artist  conceives. 

XIX.    IN  THE  BODY  OF  THE  STOKY,  THE  CHIEF  CON- 
STRUCTIONAL PROBLEM  is  THAT  OF  SEQUENCE 

1.  After  the  opening  comes  the  body  of  the  story.  In 
some  stories,  it  will  be  very  clearly  marked  off  from  the 
beginning.  There  may  even  be  a  break  between  the  two 
parts — a  stopping  and  a  beginning  over.  The  story  with  a 
philosophical  opening  is  especially  likely  to  be  of  this 
sort.  But  whether  such  a  break  is  or  is  not  desirable,  is 
a  matter  for  particular  rather  than  for  general  considera- 
tion. The  general  rule  would  be  that  the  less  obvious  the 
break,  the  better.  Yet  sometimes  the  complete  effectiveness 
of  the  opening  is  gained  by  just  such  a  breaking  off  and 


152  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

starting  over;  it  sets  the  substance  of  the  opening  apart 
clearly  by  itself,  giving  it  emphasis  and  significance.  In 
every  case,  the  break  must  be  one  of  form  or  of  substance 
only,  not  of  motif  or  theme.  The  true  function  of  the 
opening — whatever  form  it  take — is  to  prepare  for  or  add 
to  the  effectiveness  of  the  drama.  Hence  if  the  opening  is 
not  in  effect  a  presentation  in  some  form  or  guise  of  the 
motif — of  the  vital  central  thought  and  purpose — if  it  does 
not  in  some  essential  way  prepare  us  for  or  introduce  us 
to  the  story  so  vitalized — it  neither  is  nor  can  be  a  unified, 
homogeneous  part  of  the  narrative.  In  the  larger  number 
of  stories,  however,  the  writer  is  likely  to  find  an  easy 
transition  rather  than  an  obvious  break.  Often  the  open- 
ing is,  to  all  effects  and  purposes,  an  inseparable  part  of 
the  very  body  of  the  story. 

2.  These  facts  bring  us  to  the  question,  how  shall  the 
materials,  especially  the  material  of  incident,  be  grouped 
and  ordered  in  the  story? — the  problem  of  sequence  or 
groupings.     How  can  we  determine  the  arrangement  of 
incidents,  events,  descriptive  passages,  passages  of  inter- 
pretive comment,  and  the  like,  so  that  their  potency  will 
best  be  realized  toward  the  .totality  of  effect  at  which  our 
story  aims  ?    We  will  answer  the  less  important  part  of  the 
question  first.     This  is  the  part  that  concerns  descriptive, 
interpretive,  and  all  other  merely  CONTRIBUTORY  AND  AN- 
CILLARY PARTS.     This  amplifying,  realizing,  and  concen- 
trative  material,  as  we  have  already  seen,  is  indispensable, 
not  so  much  to  the  plot,  it  is  true,  as  to  the  totality  of 
effect  sought  through  both  the  plot  and  these  its  accessories. 

3.  Nevertheless,   all  material   of  this  sort  is  adjunct 
material,  introduced  and  employed  as  an  auxiliary  rather 
than  as  a  principal  factor — even  though  in  fiction,  as  in 


COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTRUCTION  153 

war,  the  auxiliaries  it  sometimes  is,  and  not  the  main 
force,  that  wins  success.  But  whether  in  war  or  in  litera- 
ture, the  operation  of  the  auxiliaries  is,  theoretically  if 
not  always  actually,  subordinate  to  the  operations  of  the 
main  -force.  We  may,  therefore,  set  down  safely  the 
principle,  that  whatever  material  is  contributory,  ancillary, 
concentrative,  or  amplifying  merely,  is  to  be  made  subor- 
dinate and  secondary  to  that  which  is  primarily  essential  to 
the  plot  and  its  outcome. 

4.  In  practice,  this  will  be  found  to  mean  either  of 
two  things :  A,  the  actual  minimizing  of  the  contributing 
material  by  reducing  it  in  amount  or  putting  it  in  incon- 
spicuous positions  in  the  narrative ;  B,  the  emphasizing  of 
the  material,  but  only  as  an  important  element  in  some 
division  or  part  of  the  larger  narrative  (this  occurs,  for 
illustration,  when  a  description,  characterization,  or  inci- 
dent is  made  the  opening  of  a  stage,  or  "  movement,"  of 
the  narrative,  in  such  a  way  that  the  development  of  the 
stage  or  movement  depends  on  this  opening  and  largely 
draws  its  significance  therefrom).     Such  employment  of 
contributory  material  by  making  it  important  in  the  devel- 
opment of  a  division,  scene,  or  stage  of  the  story,  actually 
has  the  effect  of  maTcing  it  less  prominent  in  the  completed 
narrative;  for  the  stage,  or  movement,  as  a  whole,  is  that 
which  is  prominent  in  the  completed  story,  and  the  indi- 
vidual parts  and  contributory  elements  are  subordinated 
and  merged  in  the  division  of  which  they  are  but  a  part. 

5.  Recognizing  the  necessity  of  subordinating  to  the 
main  effect  all  merely  ancillary  materials,  we  then  come  to 
the  problems  of  grouping  and  ordering  THE  MAIN  FACTS 
AND  MATERIALS — the  stages  and  movements,  the  incidents 
and  events.     The  first  fact  on  which  we  must  insist  is, 


154  SHOBT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

that  all  narrative  is  fundamentally  chronological,  for  it 
relates  action,  and  action  begins  at  one  moment,  continues 
through  a  succession  of  moments,  and  ends  at  another 
moment.  As  a  succession  of  acts,  incidents,  or  groups  of 
incidents,  the  short  story  occupies  time  from  its  beginning 
through  its  continuance  to  its  conclusion;  hence  the 
logical  (i.e.,  most  easily  comprehensible  and  most  natural) 
order  of  presenting  these  incidents,  is  the  time  order. 
So  far  as  incident  is  concerned,  this  is  the  governing 
principle  of  all  fiction. 

6.  But  as  drama  and  dramatic  narrative  have  a  more 
important  purpose  than  merely  to  present  the  events  in 
their  original,  or  historical,  sequence,  each  of  these  two 
forms  of  fiction  is  permitted  to  tamper  with  the  time  order 
so  far  as  may  be  necessary  to  accomplish  the  dramatic 
purpose.     But  no  further;  mere  inversion  and  transposi- 
tion of  incident  for  no  other  reason  than  that  events  can 
be  so  dislocated  and  relocated,  is  neither  good  artistry  nor 
good    sense.     Moreover,    whatever    the    displacement    of 
events  that  is  made  in  the  course  of  the  narrative,  this 
displacement   must   at    the    end  have   completely    disap- 
peared; the  narrative  must  at  the  last  leave  us  with  the 
feeling  of  a  sequence  unbroken  and  perfect  from  beginning 
through  continuance  to  conclusion.    Only  upon  acceptance 
of  these  conditions  is  the  writer  warranted  in  tampering 
with  the  actual  historical,  or  time,  order  of  events.     On 
no  other  terms  can  he  attain  the  effect  of  actual  history; 
lacking  which  effect,  he  must  fail  of  verisimilitude  and 
therefore  of  belief. 

7.  The  true  time  order,  therefore,  is  not  lightly  to  be 
discarded.     Now,  what  is  the  true  time  order?    We  have 
already  described  it:  from  cause,  through  phenomena,  to 


COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTRUCTION  155 

final  effect.  Let  us  state  in  more  amplified  terms  what 
this  means.  Plot  action  begins  as  soon  as  any  complicating 
influence  makes  itself  felt.  Then  ensues  a  period  in 
which  one  set  of  influences  resist^  another  set  of  influences, 
until  comes  a  time  when  something  gives  one  of  these 
sets  a  lasting  advantage  over  the  other,  and  either  then 
or  later,  a  complete  triumph.  This  is  the  natural  plot 
sequence;  the  narrative  sequence  may  and  may  not  be 
the  same.  In  all  narratives  in  which  the  two  sequences — 
plot  and  narrative — are  the  same  (i.e.,  the  order  of  time), 
we  shall  have  first,  the  complicating  influence  and  the  re- 
sponse 'of  some  of  the  persons  thereto  (initial  response)  ; 
second^  the  period  of  resistant  delay,  in  which  the  episodes 
or  stages  of  the  conflict  march  along,  each  duly  following 
those  that  belong  before  it  in  point  of  time;  third,  the  act, 
incident,  or  other  decisive  fact  that  predetermines  the 
final  outcome;  and  fourth,  the  outcome  itself,  either 
alone  or  telescoped  into  and  practically  one  with  number 
three.14" 

8.  When  now  we  seek  definite  schemes  for  thus  dis- 
locating and  relocating  blocks  or  divisions  of  the  action, 
we  find  various  possible  arrangements.  Disregarding  the 
separate  existence  of  an  "  opening,"  we  can  indicate  some 
of  these  in  outlines,  as  follows : 

14  Note  that  the  period  of  resistant  delay  does  not  always  end 
with  the  decisive  fact.  Sometimes,  as  in  the  story  showing  the 
tragic  advance  of  fate,  the  critical  period,  being  one  of  unsuccessful 
struggle  to  escape  a  foredoomed  catastrophe,  wholly  follows  the 
decisive  fact.  Indeed,  the  decisive  fact  may  be  a  wholly  antecedent 
fact  and  therefore  belong,  not  to  the  action  at  all,  but  to  the 
exposition.  In  stories  which  do  not  telescope  the  ending,  con- 
tinuance of  conflict  beyond  the  decisive  moment  accounts  in  part  for 
the  continuance  of  interest  past  this  point. 


156  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

Non-Chronological  Order-Schemes. 

A. 

1.  Incident  or  other  material  belonging  to  the  period  of 

resistant  delay. 

2.  Complicating  influence,  and  the  initial  response, 

3.  Further  resistant-delay  materials. 

4.  Decisive  fact. 

5.  Consequent  facts. 

6.  Outcome. 

B. 

1.  Facts  belonging  to  the  period  that  follows  the  decisive 

fact  (the  grand  climax,  in  whole  or  in  part). 

2.  Precedent  facts  belonging  to  the  period  of  resistant 

delay. 

3.  Discovery  of  the  complicating  fact,  with  initial  re- 

sponse. 

4.  Decisive  fact. 

5.  Outcome. 

C. 

1.  Action  or  incident  constituting  the  initial  response. 

2.  Discovery  of  the  nature  of  the  complicating  influence 

(may  be  postponed  to  follow  No.  3  or  come  even 
later). 

3.  Incident  and  other  fact  belonging  to  the  period  of 

resistant  delay. 

4.  Decisive  fact. 

5.  Consequent  facts  (including  climactic  situation). 

6.  Outcome, 


COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTKUCTION  157 

D. 

1.  Facts  belonging  to  the  period  of  resistant  delay. 

2.  The  complicating  influence  and  the  initial  response. 

3.  The  decisive  fact. 

4.  Further  fact  belonging  to  the  resistant  delay. 

5.  Facts  consequent  upon  the  decisive  fact  (including 

climactic  situation). 

6.  The  outcome  (grand  climax  may  be  included  here 

instead  of  in  No.  5) . 

E. 

1.  The  outcome. 

2.  Facts  belonging  to  the  resistant  delay. 

3.  The  complicating  fact  and  the  initial  response  (No. 

3  may  change  place  with  No.  2). 

4.  Decisive  fact  (may  be  either  preceded  or  followed 

by  No.  5). 

5.  Facts  consequent  on  decisive  fact. 

6.  The  outcome. 

9.  The  student  is  now  warned  explicitly  that  the 
schemes  given  above  are  (first)  merely  general  and  sug- 
gestive and  (second)  subject  to  further  expansion  and 
rearrangement.  He  will,  therefore,  please  take  them  as 
they  are  meant  to  be  taken — as  hints,  not  as  hard  and 
fast  sequences.  In  •  association  with  them,  a  few  other 
significant  matters  may  be  mentioned.  One  is,  that  "  out- 
come "  is  not  necessarily  the  same  as  "  ending " ;  the 
closing  part  of  the  story  will  be  discussed  later.  Another 
is,  that  the  entire  body  of  facts  belonging  to  any  phase  of 
the  narrative — initial  response,  resistant  delay,  etc. — may 
be  distributed.  Although  useful  generally,  this  principle 


158  SHOKT  STOBIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

is  likely  to  be  most  observed  in  introducing  facts  that 
belong  to  the  resistant  delay  or  to  the  complicating  in- 
fluence. For  instance,  it  is  not  uncommon  to  give  just 
enough  of  the  complicating  influence  in  connection  with 
the  initial  response  to  make  this  response  intelligible,  the 
remaining  facts  about  the  complication  being  revealed  else- 
where, as  they  are  needed. 

10.  We  may  here  SUM  UP  the  results  of  our  consider- 
ation of  sequence  so  far  as  we  have  advanced  with  it. 
The  controlling  order  is  always  that  of  time  (historical 
sequence)  ;  when  the  time  order  is  not  followed,  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  materials  must  be  such  as  nevertheless  to 
give  the  reader  the  feeling  of  historical  sequence;   and 
the  time  order  is  to  be  abandoned  only  when  abandonment 
is  necessary  in  order  to  attain  a  more  impressive  dramatic 
effect    not    possible    with    the    plain    historical    sequence. 
Ancillary  material  is  always  to  be  kept  subordinate,  this 
implying  either  (a)  actual  inconspicuousness  or  else  (b) 
actual  prominence,  but  only  in  the  development  of  some 
important  phase,  part,  or  movement  of  the  story — the  effect 
of  the  ancillary  material  being  then  realized,  not  directly, 
but  indirectly,  through  the  successful  management  of  the 
movement  which  it  helps  to  develop. 

11.  But  all  this  is  general  and  abstract,  if  not  vague. 
What  are  the  rules,  put  in  plain,  straightforward  state- 
ment, that  will  enable  one  to  tell  HOW  BEST  TO  OKDER  INCI- 
DENTS AND  EVENTS,  and  group  other  materials  of  his  story  ? 
That  question  I  cannot   answer  very  fully,  nor  have  I 
found  it  very  fully  answered  by  others.     Perhaps  but  one 
sentence  of  instruction  can  safely  be  written  concerning 
the  compositional  construction  of  all  stories  equally,  and 
that  is,  Tell  the  story  as  you  conceive  it.     Study  the  story 


COMPOSITIONAL,  CONSTRUCTION  159 

in  all  its  aspects;  seek  out  its  possibilities;  consider  the 
materials  that  are  available ;  select  those  that  are  indis- 
pensable to  your  plot  or  the  effect  you  intend;  consider 
these  materials  in  various  groupings  and  combinations,  esti- 
mating their  effectiveness  in  all  reasonable  groupings ;  try 
out  different  ways  of  motivating,  of  characterizing,  of 
indicating  setting  and  atmosphere ;  weigh  the  effectiveness 
of  different  openings  and  various  endings.  Then — write. 
12.  Clarify  your  conception  and  master  your  material. 
Then  trust  yourself.  Write  the  story  as  you  conceive  it, 
and  rewrite  it  until  it  stands  as  you  conceived  it.  If  you 
are  an  artist,  your  conception  once  matured  is  of  higher 
authority  than  all  the  formal  rules  of  composition  ever 
worded,  and  ultimately  will  override  and  subject  them  to 
its  purpose  instinctively.  This  is  no  counsel  to  a  slap-dash, 
inspiration-of-the-moment  method ;  for  whether  your  con- 
ception spring  full-grown  and  all  equipped  and  panoplied 
from  your  Jovian  brain,  or  whether  (which  is  more  prob- 
able) it  be  brought  forth  with  long  labor-pains  and  per- 
fected only  through  infinite  care  and  thought,  does  not 
matter.  Matured  it  must  be  ere  it  can  be  transformed  into 
a  worthy  story.  And  it  is  only  you  who  can  thus  mature 
and  thus  transform  it  into  the  artist's  product  that  will 
satisfy  you  and  serve  the  world.  The  conclusion  of  the 
whole  matter,  then,  is  but  a  general  commandment:  Con- 
ceive your  story  clearly  as  a  whole,  then  clearly  plan  and 
write  it  as  you  conceive  it,  both  (a)  as  a  whole  and  (b) 
in  its  parts.  This  done,  the  result  is  on  the  knees  of  the 
gods,  who  made  you  what  you  are:  a  literary  genius  or 
— something  else.15 

18  Study  of  photoplays  of  the  better  class  is  recommended.     True, 
the   photoplay   is   almost   always    strictly   chronological.     But   the 


160  SHORT  STOEIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

13.  But  there  is  one  aim  which  the  author  will  have 
in  mind  in  all  his  efforts  to  find  a  satisfactory  ordering 
of  incident  and  situation:  to  make  each  scene,  when  this 
is  possible,  ff  cue  "  the  scene  that  is  to  follow.  If  one 
movement,  drawing  to  an  end,  has  already  brought  forward 
persons  and  laid  a  stage  of  fact,  whereon  these  persons 
will  begin  to  enact  the  next  scene,  much  has  been  gained 
in  the  way  of  smoothness  and  closeness  of  connection. 
What  goes  before  introduces  what  next  succeeds ;  one  scene 
inducts  the  next ;  the  close  of  one  situation  is  the  cue  for 
the  entrance  of  the  next.  At  times,  however,  such  "  cue- 
ing "  may  not  be  desirable.  Emphasis,  distinction,  organ- 
ization, may  all  gain  if  there  be  a  curtain-fall  between  the 
scenes — if  one  conclude  cleanly  within  itself,  and  the  next 
begin  sharply  anew.  If  each  represents  an  important 
movement  of  the  action,  if  they  are  managed  well,  and  if 
they  are  logically  grouped  with  reference  to  the  main 
effect  and  plot,  the  mere  fact  that  they  are  sharply  defined 

very  skill  with  which  the  sequence  is  kept  chronological  will  be 
illuminative.  See  the  play  several  times,  in  order  to  become 
thoroughly  familiar  with  it;  it  will  pay  to  make  a  list  of  the 
scenes  for  study.  Then  rewrite  the  play  as  a  short  story.  The 
plot,  action,  and  total  effect  being  already  provided,  the  first 
attempt  can  confine  itself  to  reproducing  plot  and  action  unchanged, 
merely  (a)  filling  in  setting  and  providing  atmosphere  material, 
(b)  developing  dialogue  and  indicating  character,  and  (c)  supplying 
connection  and  transition  between  scenes.  As  step  two,  rewrite 
more  freely,  adhering  in  the  main  to  the  picture  story,  but 
modifying,  amplifying,  compressing,  and  adding  to,  as  may  be 
necessary  in  order  to  produce  a  word  narrative  as  fluent  in  its  work- 
manship as  was  the  photoplay  in  a  different  manner.  Finally,  re- 
build the  story  completely,  retaining  the  original  plot-embryo,  but 
otherwise  departing  from  the  photoplay  presentation  as  much  as 
possible.  This  will  help  to  develop  facility  in  adapting  materials 
to  varied  methods. 


COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTRUCTION  161 

one  from  the  other  in  the  body  of  the  story  will  produce  no 
incoherence.  Rather,  the  emphasis  and  distinction  gained 
by  each  through  this  independence  will  make  their  co-opera- 
tive effect  the  stronger.  The  cueing  of  one  scene  by 
another,  therefore,  may  not  always  be  best. 

14.  Now,  while  incident  and  event  are  being  grouped 
to  create  the  movements  which  together  constitute  the  body 
of  the  story,  the  other  fiction  elements  must  also  be  given 
place.    Let  us  consider  them.    Suspense,  we  saw,  is  interest 
hurrying  forward  to  be  satisfied ;  and  nothing  draws  inter- 
est on  so  much  as  ACTION.    Significant  action,  therefore,  is 
as  important  in  the  body  of  the  story  as  in  the  opening.    It 
need  not  proceed  at  a  racing  gallop ;  it  may  advance  with 
the  slow,  steady  finality  of  a  great  river,  it  may  seethe  and 
eddy  like  a  strong  tide  in  a  cliff-bound  cove,  or  it  may  ebb 
and  flow  with  the  regularity  of  the  same  tide  on  an  open 
shore.     But  always  it  must  be  there,  and  even  when  it 
ebbs,  he  who  in  his  reading  barque  has  set  out  to  sail  in 
any  of  the  waters  of  dramatic  fiction  must  be  able  to  per- 
ceive its  current  or  feel  its  groundswell,   and  sense  its 
returning  flood.    Whether  the  action  be  all  compressed  into 
one  event,  or  whether  it  consist  of  episodes  and  stages, 
always  the  current  of  interest  must  be  there,  bearing  on 
the  anticipative  reader.    And  to  continue  the  metaphor,  if 
it  can  carry  him  forward  up  to  the  very  last,  and  then, 
with  a  final  mighty  sweep  cast  him  upon  the  shore  or 
point  of  outcome  that  he  sought — why,  so  much  the  better. 

15.  CHARACTERIZATION  affords  an  illustration  of  the 
impossibility  of  laying  down  universal  principles  for  the 
exact  placing  of  fiction  materials.    One  might,  for  example, 
be  tempted  to  advise  that,  in  the  case  of  important  persons, 
the  chief  body  of  characterizing  matter  be  given  at  once. 


162  SHOET  STOEIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

But  often  it  would  prove  undesirable,  if  not  impossible, 
thus  to  give  at  once  either  an  epitome  of  the  character 
traits  or  any  considerable  body  of  fact  concerning  single 
traits.  Much  of  the  interest,  pleasure,  and  value  of  associ- 
ation with  persons  in  fiction  comes,  not  from  receiving  a 
sudden,  sun-burst  revelation  of  their  character,  but  from 
getting  acquainted  with  their  character  by  degrees,  as  one 
gets  acquainted  with  the  character  of  the  persons  whom  he 
knows  in  actual  life. 

16.  But  indeed,  complete  and  immediate  characteriza- 
ation  is  not  always  advisable  even  were  it  possible.     For 
one  thing,  characterization  is  best  accomplished  through 
dialogue  and  action;   and   at  once  to  introduce  enough 
dialogue  or  action  fully  to  set  forth  a  character,  even 
if  it  be  the  character  of  the  principal  person,  might  force 
us  to  abandon  the  original  story  merely  to  provide  charac- 
terization in  another  form  for  the  leading  person.     True, 
characterization  by  means  of  description  remains ;  but  the 
dramatic  narrator  is  always  cautious  about  introducing 
description,  and  wisely  so.    For  a  single  person,  portrayal 
through  description  might  be  satisfactory;  but  if  several 
important  persons  must  be  introduced,  each  with  his  ap- 
propriate portion  of  character-description,  the  earlier  part 
of  the  narrative  may  be  crowded  so  full  of  this  indirect 
matter  as  to  resemble  nothing  as  much  as  a  fictional  pouter- 
pigeon. 

17,  The  best  we  can  say,  therefore,  is  this :  Unless  the 
temporary    concealment    or   suppression    of   character   is 
necessary  to  the  plan  of  the  story,  the  introduction  of  each 
important  person  is  usually  well  accompanied  by  character- 
ization.    This  shall  be  more  or  less  complete,  and  accomr 
plished  by  one  means  or  another,  according  to  circum- 


COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTRUCTION  163 

stances.  Ordinarily  it  is  the  dominant  or  decisive 
character  trait  that  is  shown ;  but  for  purposes  of  contrast, 
surprise,  etc.,  an  opposite  or  different  trait  may  be  first 
adduced.  The  italicized  direction  given  just  above  we  may 
supplement  with  another :  as  persons  without  character  are 
uninteresting,  every  important  person  must,  on  first  pre- 
senting himself,  give  clear  evidence  that  he  possesses  charac- 
ter.™ Otherwise  we  shall  refuse  to  become  interested  in 
him  and  his  doings,  and  that  will  be  fatal  to  the  story. 
We  may,  indeed,  when  we  first  meet  an  actor  in  the  jstory, 
not  realize  what  his  character  is ;  we  may  even  be  led  to 
think  it  something  different  from  what  it  is ;  but  this  one 
thing  we  must  perceive  quickly — that  there  is  something 
significant  in  him,  and  that  this  significance  will  become 
manifest  as  the  narrative  proceeds. 

18.  The  student  will  now  perceive  that  characterizing 
material  may  be  so  ordered  within  the  story  that  the  initial 
characterization  will  tend  to  be  either  (a)  inclusive,  and 
hence  conclusive,  or  (b)  incomplete  and  hence  not  necessar- 
ily conclusive.  If  it  be  inclusive,  it  will  summarize,  or 
total  up  at  once,  the  chief  traits  of  the  person,  and  put  in 
encyclopedic  or  in  epitomic  form  the  leading  facts  that 
otherwise  one  could  accumulate  only  in  the  process  and 
progress  of  his  reading.  (Incidentally,  we  will  note  here 

16  Of  course  no  one  is  without  character;  but  character  may  be 
so  weak  or  colorless  as  to  seem  uninteresting.  Persons  of  such 
sort  we  are  likely  to  describe  as  being  without  character.  In  doing 
so,  we  are  wrong.  They  have  character,  and  their  character,  if 
artfully  reported  or  interpreted  to  us,  will  prove  interesting.  Here 
then,  as  always,  we  come  back  to  the  ability  of  the  writer  to  see, 
report,  and  interpret,  and  our  direction  amounts  only  to  a  caution 
that  the  writer  shall  be  especially  careful  in  showing  forth  the 
significance  of  character  in  introducing  his  persons,  especially  if 
they  be  persons  of  the  colorless,  unimpressive  sort. 


164-  SHORT  STOKIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

that  this  method  of  placing  characterization  is,  broadly 
speaking,  typical  of  romantic  rather  than  of  realistic  stories 
— romance  being  the  deductive  and  realism  the  inductive 
method  of  fiction.) 

19.  Following  such  an  introductory  epitome,  character- 
ization is  likely  to  be  less  prominent  in  the  remaining 
presentation;  for  the  author  is  likely  to  feel  that,  having 
given  his  reader  a  complete  portrayal  at  the  first,  he  need 
not  develop  it  thereafter.    He  thereafter  does  his  duty  as 
character-showman  by  acting  rather  as  demonstrator  than 
as  describer  or  expositor- — by  bringing  forward  from  time 
to  time,  that  is,  references  to  or  instances  of  characteristic 
traits  already  made  known,  thus  merely  illustrating  them 
or  recalling  them  to  the  reader's  mind.    In  such  instances, 
characterization  may  deteriorate  into  initial  description  and 
subsequent  memory-tickling.    We  would  not  be  understood 
as  holding  this  method,  well  used,  to  be  illegitimate  or 
non-effective;  but  manifestly  it  has  serious  dangers  and, 
for  some  purposes,  serious  weaknesses. 

20.  Having  mentioned  these,  we  ought  also  to  mention 
a  particular  use  that  can  sometimes  be  effectively  made  of 
the  more  inclusive  initial  portrayal^-that  of  bringing  for- 
ward at  once  the  dominant  character.     Whatever  initial 
description  may  lack  as  compared  with  action  as  a  means  of 
character  presentation  and  as  a  suspense  creator,  it  at  least 
cannot  fail  to  notify  the  reader  that  the  person  with  which 
it  is  dealing  so  exhaustively  is  an  important  person  in  the 
action  that  is  to  follow;  and  the  mind  will  quickly  jump 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  person  so  prominently  brought 
forward  at  the  first  is  the  person  on  whom  the  story  will 
center.     Hence,  as  a  device  for  focusing  thought  on  this 
person,  the  full  initial  description  is  frequently  useful. 


COMPOSITIONAL,  CONSTRUCTION  165 

If,  therefore,  the  initial  characterization  can,  by  the  intro- 
duction also  of  action  elements,  or  in  other  wise,  be  made 
to  produce  in  the  reader  a  desire  to  see  more  of  this  im- 
portant person,  it  justifies  itself  by  success. 

21.  Of  ENVIRONMENTAL  FACTS,  we  must  speak  accord- 
ing as  they  constitute  respectively  setting  or  atmosphere 
material.     The  placing  of  facts  that  are  primarily  a  part 
merely  of  the  setting,  is  governed  largely  by  one  principle. 
As  on  the  stage  the  rising  of  the  curtain,  followed  soon 
if  not  immediately  by  action,  reveals  the  stage  already  set, 

so  in  the  conte  the  first  of  any  action  movement  may  well  \  I 
find  the  setting  already  indicated.  The  essential  facts  \ky 
about  place,  time,  physical  'background,  etc.,  are  best  in- 
dicated just  before  the  action  begins  that  is  to  take  place 
in  their  setting,  or  when,  the  action  having  already  been 
motivated  or  introduced,  the  setting  becomes  necessary  to 
an  understanding  of  the  activity  that  is  about  to  follow — 
for  example,  when  the  two  rivals  have  met  and  are  about 
to  fight;  the  nature  of  the  fighting-place  being  important 
in  the  encounter,  as  when  Bertram  the  Dauntless  hurls  the 
traitorous  Count  -  de  Bun  Quome  from  the  beetling  crag 
into  a  bevy  of  Hottentot  maidens  holding  a  sewing-circle 
character  interment  in  the  meadow  far,  far  below. 

22.  The  introduction  into  the  narrative,  however,  of  the 
setting  just  before  the  events  are  related  that  are  to  develop 
in  it,  is  less  effective  than  is  the  pre-provided  stage  set  in 
the  theater.     For  on  the  stage,  the  stage-set  is  actually 
before  the  eye  throughout  the   action;   when  the  hero's 
manly  foot  approaches  the  verge  of  the  cliff,  we  then  and 
there  see  the  verge.     We  are  not  under  the  necessity  of 
harking  back  and  recalling  that  before  him  is  an  abyss  that 
yawns,     In  narration,  on  the  contrary,  the  setting  must 


166  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

be  carried  in  memory ;  we  must  either  recollect  the  yawning 
abyss,  or  the  action  must  be  stopped  while  the  yawn  is 
being  explained  to  us — a  thing  mightily  relaxing  to  sus- 
pense. To  overcome  the  consequent  difficulties  arising 
from  this  fact — the  loss  of  vividness  and  of  accurate  realiza- 
tion of  setting — narrative  uses  the  method  of  distributed 
description.  Either  (a)  the  items  are  mentioned  only  as 
they  become  immediately  important  in  the  action,  or  else 
(b)  an  inclusive  outline  of  setting  having  been  provided  at 
some  convenient  place,  its  items  are  again  referred  to  at 
the  appropriate  points  in  order  to  renew  the  suggestion  of 
actuality  and  bring  back  the  picture  to  us.  These  sug- 
gestions simply  may  recall  facts  already  introduced,  or 
they  may  go  further,  rementioning  the  principal  facts  of 
the  setting  already  outlined,  but  adding  further  detail,  thus 
not  only  vivifying  the  description,  but  also  filling  in  and 
rounding  out  the  original  sketch. 

23.  The  results  that  follow  a  successful  introduction  of 
the  massed  setting-statement  (without  or  with  the  aid  of 
distributed  reinforcing  statement)  illustrate  what  can  be 
done  toward  integration  by  subordinating  and  emphasizing 
materials  at  the  same  time  (cf.  XIX.  4).  Integration 
means  the  working  together  into  a  homogeneous  whole  of 
all  the  varied  materials  that  the  author  selects  with  which 
to  tell  his  story  and  produce  his  effect.  To  introduce  the 
setting-description  ju.st  before  the  events  for  which  it  con- 
stitutes the  stage,  is  to  emphasize  it  by  giving  it  prominence 
of  place  and  space ;  if  the  narrative  passage  dealing  with 
that  group  of  facts  with  which  this  setting  associates  itself 
be  reviewed,  the  setting  parts  will  probably  be  found  to 
stand  forth  prominently.  The  result  of  this  prominence  is 
important.  First,  it  impresses  the  reader  with  an  under- 


COMPOSITIONAL,  CONSTEUCTION  167 

standing  of  the  locale  of  the  action.  But  beyond  this,  it 
incorporates  itself  into  the  total  effect  of  the  story,  because 
the  feeling  of  this  locale  incorporates  itself  into  the  action. 
When,  therefore,  the  action  itself  integrates  with  the  larger 
story,  this  feeling — largely  one  of  atmosphere — is  carried 
with  it  and  integrated  also  with  the  larger  effect  of  the 
story.  By  emphasizing  indirect  material  in  a  subordinate 
relationship,  we  have  "both  kept  it  subordinate  to  the  nar- 
rative as  a  whole,  and  accomplished  also  the  opposite  thing 
and  made  it  (but  inobviously)  prominent  in  due  proportion 
in  the  effect  of  the  story  as  a  whole.  Thus  all  things  do 
work  together  for  good  to  them  that  love  the  artistically 
well-subdued  and  well-proportioned. 

24.  Dropping  now  the  problem  of  mere  setting,  and 
taking  up  rather  the  problem  of  the  placing  of  all  atmos- 
phere material,  we  find  ourselves  able  to  state  no  such 
absolute  rules.  But  this  will  not  surprise  us  when  we 
recall  that  atmosphere  is  after  all  a  flavor  and  impression, 
produced  jointly  and  indifferently  by  the  nature  and  qual- 
ity of  all  the  materials  in  the  story  together  with  the 
manner  of  treatment  they  receive  from  the  author — a 
manner  which  itself  is  largely  determined  by  the  author's 
personality.  Since  there  is  no  such  thing,  strictly  speaking, 
as  atmosphere  material — or  rather,  since  strictly  speaking 
everything  is  atmosphere  material — we  cannot  hope  to 
analyze  this  material  out  and  give  separate  rules  for  its 
separate  management.  As  atmosphere  is  a  quality  found 
throughout  the  story,  so  the  materials  producing  the  im- 
pression of  atmosphere  are  found  in  every  part  of  the  story. 
We  must,  therefore,  confine  ourselves  to  this  one  generaliza- 
tion. Although  whatever  enters  into  the  narrative  should 
in  some  degree  at  least  contribute  to  the  impression  of 


168  SHORT  STORIES  ix  THE  MAKING 

atmosphere,  this  impression  should  be  especially  em- 
phasized in  the  opening  and  be  well  established  and  thor- 
oughly confirmed  by  the  time  the  narrative  reaches  its 
climactic  height.  Beyond  the  point  of  climax,  any  attempt 
to  create  an  atmosphere  not  already  felt  will  be  unsuccess- 
ful in  itself,  and  will  in  all  probability  break  the  other 
effects  already  produced.  The  atmosphere  should  be  felt 
early  in  the  narrative,  and  fully  realized  in  time  to  enter 
into  and  become  a  part  of  the  climactic  situation. 

25.  We  have  now  considered  various  particular  devices, 
methods,  and  principles  involved  in  the  effective  ordering 
of  the  incidents  and  events,  and  of  the  two  other  elements 
of  dramatic  narrative  fiction — character  and  setting.    Yet 
we  find  that  the  problem  of  the  ordering  and  distribution 
of  material  remains  specifically  unsolved — that  no  arbi- 
trary, universal  set  of  directions  exists  by  which  these 
materials  can  always  be  assembled  with  the  desired  result. 
Even  when  we  have  been  most  dogmatic  in  wording  state- 
ments, we  have  found  ourselves  compelled  to  refer  these 
statements  for  final  sanction  to  an  object  and  purpose  out- 
side of  the  mere  narrative  sequence.     We  have  always  to 
consider  our  narrative  methods  with  a  view  to  their  final 
effect,  the  production  through  dramatic  process  of  a  dom- 
inant, single  impression. 

26.  Now  out  of  this  fact — the  fact  that  the  success 
of  the  conte  centers  in  a  single  definite  impression — comes 
another  hint,  and  an  important  one,  for  the  ordering  of 
story  materials.      This  one  dominant  impression  is  the 
total  effect  of  a  body  of  lesser  impressions,  each  pretty 
definitely  made  by  itself,  and  all  integrated  into  a  larger, 
homogeneous  whole.     But  at  some  point  in  the  narrative 
one  such  contributing  impression  will  be  made  that  is 


COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTRUCTION  169 

deeper,  that  stirs  and  affects  the  reader  more  strongly, 
tlian  any  of  the  others,  because  it  represents  the  culmination 
in  a  climactic  situation — the  height  of  suspense,  interest, 
and  emotion — of  all  the  impressions  that  have  preceded  it. 
27.  This  climactic  height,  or  emotional  acme,  is  that 
one  situation  toward  which  all  the  story  moves  (except 
possibly  near  the  end — and  then  the  movement  is  merely 
a  quick,  conclusive  falling  away  from  it,  in  so  much  of  an 
ending  as,  and  no  more  than,  is  necessary  to  bring  the 
final  stop).  The  importance  of  this  climactic  situation — 
already  strongly  emphasized — is  the  reason  for  stating  the 
following  important  rule :  In  any  story,  use  that  method 
of  ordering  and  distribution  which  best  prepares  for,  brings 
on,  and  strengthens  the  grand  climax.  For  without  an 
impressive  climactic  situation,  there  will  be  no  strong 
impression  from  the  story  as  a  whole;  the  unifying 
appliance  will  be  missing  from  the  machine — the  parts 
will  be  assembled,  but  they  will  not  be  connected  up.  The 
further  fact  that  usually  those  stories  are  most  effective 
in  which  the  grand  climax  is  also  the  close,  points  clearly 
to  the  need  of  an  arrangement  by  which  the  climactic 
situation  shall  if  possible  be  also  the  closing  situation  of 
the  story  as  a  whole. 

XX.  THE  ENDING,  IF  SEPARATE  FROM  THE  CLIMACTIC 
MOMENT,  EXISTS  MERELY  TO  SUPPLEMENT  AND 
CLOSE  THE  NARRATIVE 

1.  We  have  already  indicated  the  most  effective,  and 
on  the  whole  most  desirable,  form  of  ending — that  which 
is  involved  in  or  closely  follows  upon  the  climactic  mo- 
ment, A  few  sentences  more  should,  therefore,  be  enough 


170  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

to  dispose  of  this  form  of  ending.  But  to  prepare  for  them, 
we  must  first  explain  the  function  of  the  close.  Stated 
in  popular  rather  than  in  scientific  terms,  it  is  this:  To 
leave  the  reader  with  the  feeling  that  the  story  has  not 
only  stopped,  but  actually  is  finished — to  produce  the 
sense  of  a  rounded-out  completeness  of  events  and  conse- 
quences. It  exists  to  prevent  a  restless  after-feeling  of 
"  something  left  undone  "  when  the  story  has  been  laid 
aside. 

2.  To  leave  the  reader  thus  satisfied,  is  not  necessarily 
to  leave  him  satisfied  with  the  outcome  of  the  events; 
with  this  he  may  or  may  not  be  content.  He  may,  for 
instance,  be  a  believer  in  the  "  happy "  ending,  and, 
therefore,  be  disappointed  with  the  story  that  has  chosen 
to  pursue  the  tragic  workings  of  cause  and  effect  to  a 
logical  unhappy  ending,  rather  than  to  compose  a  less 
significant  story  of  the  "  lived  happy 'ever  after"  (so  far 
as  we  choose  to  tell)  sort.  But  if  the  story,  whatever  its 
individual  nature,  spirit,  and  outcome,  leave  the  reader 
in  full  possession  of  the  facts,  with  nothing  reasonably 
to  be  asked  further  about  the  persons,  action,  or  situation, 
it  satisfies  him  in  our  sense  of  the  term.  He  has  seen  the 
wheels  go  round  that  make  up  one  tiny  movement  of  the 
great  timepiece  of  existence,  and  he  has  seen  why  these 
particular  wheels  go  as  they  do ;  the  purpose  of  the  ending 
was  to  finish  up  this  exhibition  and  explanation.  Or,  re- 
membering that  the  short  story,  or  conte,  is  but  a  fragmen- 
tary glimpse,  a  tiny  cameo,  representing  in  relief  some 
single  bit  of  life,  we  may  say  that  the  ending  represents 
the  last  few  gravings  that  bring  up  the  relief  into  perfect 
clearness,  which  otherwise  would  have  remained  flat  and 
obscure,  making  the  gem  appear  poor  and  unfinished. 


COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTRUCTION  171 

3.  If  now  the  climactic  situation,  together  with  what 
goes  before  and  prepares  for  it,  does  not  thus  completely 
satisfy  the  curiosity  of  the  reader  to  know  thoroughly  what 
(so  long  as  it  be  material)  actually  befell  in  this  isolated 
bit  of  life — if  it  does  not  constitute  a  complete  close  to 
its  particular  series  of  events,  and  leave  him,  moreover, 
in  clear  possession  of  the  central  thought  of  the  story — 
then  something  must  be  added  to  provide  this  additional 
information  or  enforcement,  in  order  that  the  reader  shall 
lay  aside  the  story  with  the  full  sense  of  interest  satisfied. 
The  function  of  the  separate  ending  is,  to  discharge  what- 
ever smaller  parts  remain  unpaid  of  the  debt  of  suspense 
when  the  climactic  situation  has  been  fully  drawn  upon. 

4.  To  make  the  grand  climax  likewise  the  satisfying 
close,  two  things  will  be  necessary:  First,   an  adequate 
revelation  of  the  inevitable  results  of  the  conflict ;  second, 
a  climactic  situation  which  is  in  itself  final  and  conclusive. 
The  attainment  of  the  first  object — the  revelation  of  the 
results  inevitable  upon  the  outcome — calls  for  what  we  may 
term  consequential  exposition;  that  is,  exposition  of  after- 
results  as  well  as  of  initial  situation,  a  disclosure  of  what 
the  after-situation  will  be  as  well  as  what  the  beginning 
situation  was.     The   revelation  of  the   inevitable  conse- 
quences of  the  outcome  is  indispensable,  for  without  it  the 
narrative  will  be  either  ambiguous  or  else  wholly  obscure ; 
the  reader  will  be  uncertain  of  the  consequences  involved 
in  the  conflict,  and  the  conflict  itself  will,  therefore,  be 
deprived  of  definiteness  and  critical  intensity.     Watching 
a  man  struggling  in  the  river,  we  shall  feel  great  suspense 
if  we  know  he  is  trying  to  save  himself  from  drowning; 
and  we  shall  feel  some  curious  interest  (suspense)  if  we 
know  that  he  is  merely  an  actor  whose  "  stunt "  is  being 


172  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

"  filmed  "  for  the  "  movies  " ;  but  we  shall  be  troubled  and 
irritated  if  we  are  left  quite  in  doubt  whether  anything 
is  wrong  or  not,  and  if  anything  is  wrong,  what  it  is.  We 
say,  therefore,  that  although  the  conflict  in  dramatic  narra- 
tive should  keep  us  in  doubt  of  the  outcome;  and  although 
the  outcome  itself  does  not  have  to  be  inevitable,  but  only 
plausible  and  probable  under  the  conditions  supposed;  yet 
the  consequences  that  will  follow  the  outcome  must  on  the 
contrary  be  evident,  definite,  and  sure,  presenting  them- 
selves to  us  as  inevitable. 

5.  Sometimes  this  revelation  of  inevitable  consequences 
dependent  upon  the  outcome  will  be  given  by  the  dis- 
closure of  the  complication  and  the  development  of  the 
plot  conflict.  But  not  always ;  stories  in  which  complica- 
tion, conflict,  and  thoroughly  interesting  action  exist  are 
quite  possible  without  an  indication  of  the  exact  nature,  the 
details,  of  the  results  that  will  follow  the  outcome.  It  is 
only  when  the  story  is  made  fully  to  reveal  these  after- 
consequences,  and  to  reveal  them  before  the  grand  climax 
is  reached,  or  at  least  before  it  is  passed,  that  the  climactic 
situation  can  conclusively  end  the  story.  Coppee's  The 
Substitute  is  a  good  example  of  the  story  in  which  this 
revelation  is  completed  before  and  in  the  climactic  situa- 
tion. True,  Coppee  does  add  one  sentence  after  the  close 
of  this  situation :  "  Today  he  is  at  Cayenne,  condemned 
for  life  as  an  incorrigible."  But  this  sentence  is  not 
necessary.  No  reader  but  would  understand  from  what 
has  gone  before  that  a  further  conviction  of  the  ex-convict 
who  is  assuming  another's  guilt,  will  mean  the  terrific 
cumulation  upon  him  of  his  earlier  offenses  and  criminal 
record,  unlightened  by  his  later  reformation.  Possibly 
the  words  "  for  life  "  in  the  sentence  quoted,  add  something 


COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTRUCTION  173 

to  our  information — but  not  much ;  we  knew  before  that  it 
was  colossal  tragedy.  And  unless  the  reader  is  familiar 
with  the  horrible  prison  reputation  of  Cayenne  already, 
the  mention  of  Cayenne  tells  him  nothing  more ;  whereas 
if  he  knows  it,  he  knows  too  that  there  men  of  the  sort 
Jean  Frangois  is  supposed  to  be,  are  sent.  We  may,  there- 
fore, regard  this  sentence  as  superfluous ;  in  which  case 
CoppeVs  story  ends  absolutely  with  the  closing  words  of 
the  climactic  situation :  "  Forward,  bad  lot !  "  and  we 
know  that  Leturc's  past  has  "  got "  him,  tragically  and 
ruinously. 

6.  When,  however,  the  climactic  situation  does  not  in 
truth  constitute  a  sufficient  rounding  out  of  the  story, 
we  have  the  distinct  ending.  This  ending  will  be  either  of 
two  things :  interpretive  or  philosophical  comment,  or  a  • 
passage  in  which  is  contained  the  revelation  of  the  final 
results  of  the  outcome.  The  interpretive,  or  philosophical- 
comment  ending,  can  be  justified  only  when  there  is  need 
of  clinching  the  theme,  express  or  implied,  or  of  directing 
attention  extraneously  and  pointedly  to  the  effect  intended. 
This  may  be  necessary  when  the  story  is  written  as  a  theme 
story,  or  when  the  nature  of  the  material  handled,  or  the 
point  of  view  chosen,  produces  a  somewhat  more  loosely- 
wrought  narrative  than  is  theoretically  admirable.  The 
ending  of  comment  or  interpretation' is  especially  likely  to 
occur  in  stories  that  open  with  philosophical  or  interpretive 
prelude.  A  particular  form  of  this  ending  goes  usually 
with  narrative  told  from  the  viewpoint  of  spectator  or 
participant ;  it  is  that  in  which  the  effect  of  the  events  or 
other  elements  in  the  narrative  upon  some  person  is  re- 
ported. This  person  may  be  either  a  participant,  a  specta- 
tor, the  narrator,  or  one  of  his  supposed  auditors.  Example : 


174  SHOET  STOKIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

"  Good  God !  "  exclaimed  Vansburgh,  rising  and  looking 
about  the  cafe  in  horror.  "  That  thing  happened  here  ?  " 

"  At  this  very  table." 

Vansburgh  gazed  at  the  Lieutenant  in  a  terrified  fascina- 
tion; he  was  white  and  trembling. 

"  Eight  there/'  continued  the  officer,  pointing  a  slow 
steady  finger  at  a  place  just  beside  the  other. 

Vansburgh's  eyes  dilated  as  he  gazed — one  would  have 
said  he  saw  the  thing  re-enact  itself  beside  him.  Then, 
with  a  gurgling  cry,  he  reeled  hastily  to  the  door.  A 
minute  later  we  heard  his  big  motor-car  leap  away  from 
the  curb  in  frantic  haste. 

The  student  will  observe,  however,  that  such  an  ending 
•  calls  for  an  almost  complete  transfer  of  attention  from 
the  persons  and  action  of  the  plot,  to  persons  and  action 
quite  outside  it — necessarily  breaking  the  unity  of  narra- 
tive if  not  the  unity  of  attention.  It  is,  therefore,  less 
artistic  than  an  ending  which  closes  at  once  the  plot 
narrative  and  the  story  as  a  whole ;  but  it  may  nevertheless 
be  made  necessary  by  the  plan  of  narration  chosen  by  the 
author.  The  lesson  is  this :  do  not  without  full  considera- 
tion choose  a  plan  of  narration  that  requires  such  a  break ; 
respect  the  unity  of  action  and  of  attention. 

7.  The  ending  is  common  which  shows  some  person  or 
persons  belonging  to  the  events,  experiencing  the  after- 
results  of  the  outcome.  It  may  take  the  form  of  further 
narration — the  persons  appearing  in  action  under  the  new 
set  of  conditions — or  of  dialogue,  the  persons  by  their 
conversation  revealing  what  these  results  are.  It  may  also 
take  the  form  of  direct  statement  by  the  narrator  (see 
the  sentence  quoted  in  par.  5,  which  is  an  unusually  short 


COMPOSITIONAL,  CONSTRUCTION  175 

ending  of  this  class).  Again,  it  may  merge  into  that  form 
of  interpretive  ending  in  which  the  story  is  interpreted  by 
indicating  the  effect  produced  by  it  on  particular  individ- 
uals (see  par.  6).  We  have  already  said  that  brevity  is 
essential  in  the  endings.  But  in  one  sort  of  story  (e.g., 
XingUj  by  Edith  Wharton)  the  effect  is  got,  not  from  the 
conflict,  but  from  seeing  the  persons  undergoing  the  results 
of  the  outcome.  In  such  a  story,  the  ending  will  be  longer ; 
or  we  might  perhaps  say  that  the  plot  outcome  brings  us 
merely  to  the  exciting  moment,  so  far  as  the  total  effect  is 
concerned,  and  that  the  ending  is  in  the  nature  of  develop- 
ing detail.  In  Xingu,  which  is  satirical,  the  effect  of  the 
satire  against  pretentious  ignorance  in  club-women  is  got 
by  means  of  a  long  ending  showing  what  occurred  after 
the  women  discovered  the  hoax  of  which  they  had  been  the 
victims ;  this  hoax  is  revealed  comparatively  early  in  the 
narrative.  Some  students  may  prefer  to  call  this  ending 
the  falling  action  of  the  story — which  indeed,  from  the 
viewpoint  of  plot  theory,  it  is.  The  distinction  is  not, 
however,  fundamentally  important  here,  except  as  showing 
the  possibility  of  constructing  plots  wherein  (contrary  to 
the  customary  fact)  the  effect  is  secured  in  and  through 
the  falling  action. 

XXI.    A  PRELIMINARY  SCHEME  OF  IMPORTANT  COM- 
POSITIONAL FACTS  WILL  HELP  THE  AUTHOR 

1.  The  short  story,  or  conte,  is  a  dramatic  report  of 
some  coherent  bit  of  life.  Therefore,  as  a  report,  it  must 
cover  the  ground.  To  do  so  artistically  and  not  merely  as 
a  chronicle,  it  must  attend  to  a  certain  set  of  essential  facts, 
assembling  and  managing  all  its  materials  with  reference 


176  SHOUT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

to  these  facts ;  in  looser  but  more  familiar  phrase,  it 
must  look  out  for  certain  points — attend  to  particular 
matters  that  will  make  or  unmake  the  story.  All  of  these 
"  points  "  have  been  touched  upon  more  or  less  specifically 
in  the  progress  of  our  discussion ;  and  here,  therefore,  we 
can  set  down  a  list  of  matters  which  the  writer  should 
have  clearly  in  mind  when  he  enters  upon  the  actual  com- 
position of  his  story.17  Most  writers  will  gain  time, 
definiteness,  and  effectiveness  by  using  such  a  catalogue, 
filling  it  out  completely  in  advance,  consulting  it  during 
composition,  and  checking  up  the  completed  story  by 
means  of  it. 

2.    This  catalogue  or  scheme  may  take  some  form  like 
that  which  follows. 

In  My  Story 

A.  The  theme   is 

B.  The  working-plot  is 

0.    The  effect  aimed  at  is 

D.  The  main  complicating  fact  is 

E.  The  dominant  mood  of  the  story  is 

F.  The  dominant  person  is 

G.  The  dominant  character  trait  is 

H.    The  motivating  facts  are 


I.  The  decisive  situation  is.  . 
J.  The  climactic  situation  is. 
K.  The  outcome  is .  . 


3.    This   scheme  may  be  supplemented  with  another, 

17  The  catalogue  is  revised  from  that  given  in  Professor  Pitkin's 
valuable  book,  The  Art  and  Business  of  Story  Writing, 


COMPOSITIONAL  CONSTRUCTION  177 

listing  further  matters  that,  in  any  story,  are  likely  to 
call  for  especial  attention;  namely — • 

L.    The  main  setting  is 

M.  The  atmosphere  quality  to  be  emphasized  is 

N.  The  foiling,  balancing,  or  contrast  elements  are : 

(1)  Persons  and  character 

(2)  Setting    

(3)  Situation 

(4)  The  anti-theme   (theme  denied,  or  in  re- 
verse)     

O.    The  concentrative  episodes  are 

P.  The  "  identifying  tags  "  are : 

(1)  For  the  individual  persons 

(2)  For   atmosphere 

(3)  For  dialect: 

a.  Ordinary  speech 

b.  Dialect    

(4)  Occupation    

(5)  Character  trait 

Q.  The  surprise  lies  in 

4.  The  supplementary  list  just  given  is  not  represented 
to  be  complete.  It  does  give  some  of  the  commonest  con- 
siderations that  enter  into  the  making  of  particular  stories, 
or  that  belong  to  the  more  advanced  stages  of  composition 
in  any  story.  But  every  story  involves  peculiar  elements 
which  can  'be  known  only  to  the  author  as  he  works 
out  its  plot  and  plan;  hence  a  scheme  such  as  ours  can 
be  suggestive  merely.  Some  such  list  should,  however, 
be  used ;  for  in  writing,  as  elsewhere,  prevision  and  provi- 
sion are  worth  any  amount  of  patching  up  by  hindsight. 


CHAPTEE  IV 
OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING 

XXII.    OBSERVANCE  OF  CERTAIN  "  UNITIES  "  PREVENTS 
DISPERSAL  OF  EFFECT 

1.  Approaching  the  short  story  from  other  points  of 
view,  we  find  various  other  problems — such  for  instance 
as  choice  of  theme  or  of  motif,  choice  and  management  of 
particular  materials  and  content,  etc. — not  all  of  them 
strictly  problems  of  technique  or  of  the  conte  alone,  but 
all  of  them  important  in  its  final  making.     Some  of  these 
we  shall  now  consider,  beginning  with  the  problem  of 
unity. 

2.  The  true  short  story   (conte)    is  characterized,  as 
we  have  seen,  by  a  single  dominant  effect.     Some  would 
say,  worthy  effect ;  but  the  worthiness  of  the  effect  is  not 
essential  so  much  to  the  artistic  as  to  the  ethical  require- 
ments of  literature.     It  is  possible  so  to  construct  a  story, 
and  so  to  manipulate  the  materials  and  employ  in  the 
narrative  the  devices  of  fiction,  as  to  elevate  an  absolutely 
trivial  idea  or  emotion  into  the  dignity  of  an  effect.     But 
such   an  exalting  of  the  trivial  is  a  triumph   of  mere 
technique ;  it  is  not  informed  with  the  high  spirit  of  crea- 
tive art ;  and  the  result  is  a  toy,  a  curiosity,  an  interesting 
yet   useless   by-product   of   the  worker's    skill,    inspired 
by  vanity  or  idleness.     It  is  like  the  models  of  ships, 
complete  sometimes  in  every  detail,  made  by  seafaring 
gentlemen  with  a  knack  for  tools  and  a  fondness  for  the 

178 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING         179 

sunny  side  of  a  water-butt,  and  landfaring  ditto  with 
too  much  time  on  their  hands,  owing  to  a  similar  fondness 
for  the  leeward  side  of  a  sun-touched  wall. 

3.  Actual  moral  un worthiness  we  cannot,  of  course, 
afford.  JSTor  are  many  artists  found  who  indulge  it,  or 
show  a  tendency  to  do  so.  All  art,  even  of  mediocre  rank, 
seems  in  its  serious  efforts  to  have  behind  it  a  moral  pur- 
pose, if  not  indeed  to  spring  immediately  from  moral  im- 
pulse. Earnest  writers  are  animated  by  a  desire  for  truth 
(even  for  THE  truth,  if  it  can  be  found  by  man) — and  this 
very  fact  often  accounts  for  their  writing  of  things  shocking 
to  the  great,  laissez-faire  public,  which  any  Lancelot  Gtabbo 
can  see  is  sometimes,  morally,  stone-gravel  blind.  We 
need  not  insist  on  the  matter  here,  but  we  shall  be  war- 
ranted in  noting  that  time  usually  vindicates  such  writers, 
at  last  bringing  a  more  plodding  and  dull-eyed  world 
clumping  flat-soled  along  the  way  which  lighter-footed, 
keener-visioned  men  saw  and  traveled  long  before  .  .  . 
grunting  with  satisfaction  at  having  discovered  it  them- 
selves ;  whereas  they  have  merely  chanced  upon  the  trail 
broken  by  unappreciated  pioneers  whom  they  used  to  scorn. 
Another  reason  why  we  should  not  insist  upon  "  moral 
aim,"  or  whatever  cant  phrase  may  be  in  fashion  at  any 
time  for  the  thing  itself,  is  this :  the  artistic  conscience  is 
not  to  be  tampered  with  or  constrained  by  outsiders;  the 
deep-seeing,  far-scanning  artist  (usually  justified,  as  we 
have  just  remarked,  by  ff  the  long  results  of  time  ")  cannot 
do  his  work  in  the  world  with  loyalty  to  either  art  or 
general  welfare  if  he  is  to  be  bent  to  the  constraints  of 
anything  but  his  own  conscience,  emotions,  and  judgment.1 

1  "  Emotions,"  because  so  great  a  part  of  human  progress,  law, 
and  government,  are  founded  upon  feeling.  The  war  between  the 


180  SHOET  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

Nothing  is  more  cruel,  nothing  more  bigoted,  nothing  more 
blind  to  and  destructive  of  the  usefulness  of  art,  than  this 
imposition  of  stolid,  stodgy,  often  stupid,  standards  by  a 
generation  educated  just  enough  to  believe  in  the  value  of 
morality,  but  not  educated  enough  to  comprehend  the 
foundations  of  morality. 

4.  So  much  in  digression  about  the  worthiness,  artistic 
and  moral,  of  the  impression  at  which  the  short  story  aims ; 
now  for  consideration  of  that  impression  as  the  source  of 
unity  in  the  narrative.  For  the  unity  of  the  narrative 
drama  is  to  be  judged  solely  by  the  unity,  strength,  and 

states  was  a  war  of  emotions — and  the  after-results  have  shown 
that,  so  far  as  the  merely  reasoned  arguments  of  the  two  sides  are 
concerned,  both  were  largely  erroneous.  Our  war  with  Spain  was 
emotional.  At  least  two  of  the  important  political  parties  now 
existing  are,  or  were  at  their  founding,  the  outcome  of  deeply-felt 
emotion.  The  many  so-termed  reform  measures  now  being  enacted 
into  law,  and  the  innumerable  humanitarian  and  philanthropic 
undertakings  that  characterize  our  times,  are  at  bottom  emotional. 
The  analytical  historian  can  thus  trace  some  of  the  greatest  move- 
ments of  human  development  to  the  emotions  as  a  source. 

The  fact  that  emotions  play  so  great  a  part  in  our  affairs,  makes 
any  sort  of  censorship  unwholesome  that  attempts  to  interfere  with 
the  development  or  cultivation  of  the  emotions,  or  with  the  direction 
of  our  feelings  to  particular  ends.  Such  attempts  cannot  be 
prejudged,  even  by  so  great  seers,  prophets,  and  sages  as  police 
inspectors  and  commissioners.  Their  sole  test  is  their  successful  or 
unsuccessful  working  out  according  to  their  own  nature.  Few  of 
us  would  not  prefer  to  live  in  a  twentieth  rather  than  in  an 
eighteenth  century — which  fact  may  be  taken  as  indicating  in  an 
empirical  sort  of  way  that  on  the  whole  the  results  of  having 
things  work  out  their  own  way  are  making  a  better  world  from 
generation  to  generation.  Censorship  of  any  sort  is  to  be  looked 
upon  with  suspicion;  but  censorship  of  art — attempts  to  interfere 
with  the  cultivation  or  direction  of  the  emotions  by  the  men  whose 
whole  business  in  life  it  is  to  see  deep  into  and  far  over  existence 
— is  probably  never  warranted. 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING        181 

singleness  of  this  effect.  A  story  may  violate  all  the 
canons  of  rhetorical  unity,  and  yet  (provided  it  be  suc- 
cessfully motivated)  triumphantly  take  its  place  among 
true  short  stories,  if  only  it  leave  with  the  reader  this 
strong  single  impression. 

5.  How  shall  this  unity  of  impression  be  brought 
about  ? 2  We  must  still  bear  in  mind  the  perpetual  warn- 
ing, that  with  the  true  artist  all  things  are  possible — that 
even  the  most  absolute  dogma  of  story-writing  theory  may 
at  any  time  be  upset  by  skilled  achievement  taking  a  differ- 
ent way.  No  principle  can  safely  be  declared  universal. 
Therefore,  although  we  now  state  the  usual,  we  are  not 
stating  the  universal  when  we  say  that,  next  to  unity  of 
action  (par.  14),  the  surest  way  of  providing  for  the  single 
effect  is  to  make,  one  leading  person  the  dominant  person  in 
the  three  phases  of  plot,  action,  and  characterization.*  If 
the  plot  depends  on  and  turns  about  a  single  person;  if 
the  main  part  of  the  action  either  is  carried  on  by  this 
person,  or  else,  though  carried  on  by  others,  yet  keeps 
him  rather  than  them  in  the  front  of  attention ;  and  if 

2  The  all-inclusive  answer  to  the  question  is  this :  By  attending 
carefully  to  all  those  matters  which  produce  (a)  verisimilitude,  (b) 
convergence  to  a  dramatic  climax  with  a  conclusive  outcome,  and  (c) 
subjective  coloring.  The  paragraphs  in  the  text  aim  merely  to 
suggest  particular  means  and  devices  by  which  this  thorough 
integration  may  be  achieved. 

8  He  may  be  the  dominant  person  in  the  plot-action  without  being 
the  center  of  interest.  Thus,  in  The  Hahnheimer  Story  (by  Arthur 
James  Pegler,  Adventure,  March,  1914),  the  reporter,  Singleton,  is 
the  dominant  person,  but  the  interest  is  in  the  group  of  men,  all 
yellow  journalists,  with  whom  he  stands  in  contrast.  What  he 
does  is  important  only  in  providing  a  means  of  characterizing  these 
others  collectively. 


182  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

this  person,  as  the  leading  object  of  our  interest,  is  more 
fully  and  individually  characterized  than  the  others; — 
then  at  the  end  we  are  almost  sure  to  find  that  the  total 
impression,  being  thus  gathered  up  in  the  fate  of  this 
person,  is  thoroughly  unified. 

6.  A  few  hints  will  be  useful  concerning  the  manage- 
ment of  portrayal  in  order  thus  effectively  to  develop  the 
full  strength  of  the  person  in  the  drama.    First  of  all,  the 
character  (and  sometimes  the  appearance)  of  the  person 
must  be  fully  conceived.     The  writer  must  know  this 
person's  traits,  habits,  mannerisms  of  thought  and  action ; 
otherwise  he  cannot  depict  him,  but  will  at  best  turn  out 
one  who  is  only  a  type  or  a  stock  personage,  not  both  a 
type  and  an  individual.    Second,  only  the  peculiarly  usable 
characteristics  must  be  portrayed.     For  singleness  of  im- 
pression, these  have  to  be  kept  few  in  number ;  abundance 
and  variety  of  trait  and  mannerism  may  be  suggested,  but 
the  number  actually  presented  must  be  few,  and  frequently 
the  greatest  concentration  of  effect  is  obtained  by  emphasiz- 
ing one  trait  only — the  dominant  one.     Mannerisms  of 
speech  and  action  will  naturally  be  chosen  with  a  view 
to  manifesting,  explaining,  and  otherwise  emphasizing  the 
leading  trait  of  character. 

7.  Third,   the   characteristics  of  the   person  must  be 
portrayed  mainly  through  act  and  speech;  to  present  a 
character  in  a  piece  of  dramatic  fiction  by  means  of  de- 
scription or  expository  comment  is  a  mistake,  provided 
the  same  facts  can  as  well  be  presented  by  showing  the 
persons  in  action.     Similarly,  for  the  narrator  in  his  own 
person  to  present  them  descriptively  is  poor  art,  if  he  can 
portray  them  through  the  acts  or  speech  of  persons  in  the 
story.     The  author  may  tell  us  that  Smith  is  a  liar;  but 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING         183 

this  is  not  half  so  effective  as  to  have  Jones,  a  person  in 
the  story,  say  of  his  fellow-person :  "  Smith  ?  Oh,  he's  a 
gold-medal  liar."  That  at  once  tickets  both  Smith  and 
Jones ;  moreover,  it  makes  us  feel  as  if  we  had  heard  Jones 
telling  what  he  thinks  of  Smith — we  realize  it  better. 
Fourth,  only  the  most  impressive  manifestation  of  a  trait 
should  be  presented.  Guarding  always  against  sensation- 
alism, the  author  should  as  far  as  possible  present  the 
most  vivid,  striking,  and  impressive  deeds  and  speeches 
whereby  the  person  manifests  his  character. 

8.  Fifth,  although  the  various  elements  of  the  person's 
character  ought  to  be  enough  suggested  to  prevent  a  sense 
of  distortion,  yet  this  part  of  the  portrayal  should  be  re- 
stricted as  much  as  is  consistent  with  just  perspective. 
Finally  (and  this  comes  near  to  summarizing  the  whole 
matter) ,  the  person  should  always  be  shown  in  some  activ- 
ity that  directly  furthers  the  plot-action,  in  preference  to 
that  which  will  leave  the  plot  unadvanced;  but  all  that  he 
does  should,  while  advancing  the  plot-action,  also  reveal  or 
explain  his  own  character.4" 

9.  The  principles  here  stated  are  equally  applicable  in 
the  case  of  less  important  persons,  so  long  as  the  im- 
portance of  these  persons  is  kept  subordinate  to  that  of 
the  leading  actor.     About  the  portrayal  of  subordinate, 

4  Probably  it  is  unnecessary  to  explain  that  the  rule  of  plot 
utility  just  stated  must  be  applied  with  judgment.  At  times  it 
may  be  worth  while  for  the  sake  of  characterization,  theme  en- 
forcement, or  atmosphere  creation,  to  show  the  person  in  activity 
that  does  not  directly  further  the  plot.  There  may  even  "be  times 
when  delay  in  or  postponement  of  the  plot-action  will  "be  desirable. 
The  author  must  use  his  judgment  in  determining  how  far  he 
shall  go  in  the  employment  of  merely  concentrative  or  amplifying 
material  when  presenting  his  leading  person. 


184:  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

or  secondary,  persons,  however,  two  facts  should  be  noted. 
That  the  secondary  person  is  less  important  to  the  final 
total  effect,  suggests  that  he  should  be  portrayed  with  less 
fullness ;  accordingly,  the  presentation  of  subordinate 
persons  is,  in  comparison  with  the  portrayal  given  leading 
persons,  more  sketchy  and  incomplete;  and,  whereas,  the 
leading  person  is  a  type  individualized,  the  subordinate 
person  is  likely  to  be  merely  the  type  or  (possibly)  merely 
the  individual.  A  fuller  portrayal  might  result  in  dispro- 
portion in  the  completed  narrative,  and,  even  more  un- 
fortunately, in  putting  forward  another  person  to  compete 
with  the  dominant  actor  for  our  attention.  The  other  fact 
to  be  noted  is  this:  Subordinate  persons,  especially  when 
serving  as  foils  and  introduced  primarily  to  offset  or  other- 
wise emphasize  the  dominant  person,  may  sometimes  be 
satisfactorily  portrayed  through  expository  description  or 
comment  where  downright  action  would  be  used  with  the 
dominant  person.  Such  presentation  enables  rapid  and 
summary  portrayal  to  be  made,  thus  preserving  proportion 
and  due  subordination.  It  has  too  the  advantage  of 
permitting  (by  way  of  implied  or  directly  stated  contrast) 
comment  upon  and  explanation  of  the  dominant  char- 
acter, and  of  introducing  this  explanatory  matter  in 
the  lower  levels  of  suspense  and  the  subordinate  parts 
of  the  narrative,  where  it  will  not  hinder  or  clog  the 
action. 

10.  But  although — excepting  unity  of  action  (par.  14) 
— unity  of  person  (and,  therefore,  unity  of  character)  is 
the  commonest  and  on  the  whole  the  most  dependable  means 
for  securing  unity  of  narrative  5  and  unity  of  impression, 

5  Emphatically,  this  assertion  is  not  to  be  wrenched  into  com- 
mendation of  the  "  history-of-a-life "  or  "  from-the-cradle-to-the- 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING        185 

other  means  are  often  equally  successful.  There  is,  for 
example,  unity  of  time — the  association  of  the  events  and 
persons  so  closely  in  time  that  they  seem  to  belong  naturally 
to  the  same  body  of  fact  and  happening.  Turning  this 
fact  end-for-end,  we  may  say  this:  when  matters,  even 
though  otherwise  closely  associated,  are  widely  separated 
in  time,  it  becomes  more  difficult  to  think  of  them  together. 
Therefore,  it  is  better  that,  for  time  unity,  all  the  events 
be  confined  to  a  comparatively  short  and  unbroJcen 
period.  What  this  period  shall  be  is  better  left  to  the 
judgment  of  the  writer  when  he  comes  to  build  his 
plot  and  determine  the  incidents  of  his  story.  (See 
par.  12.) 

11.  For  indeed,  whether  this  period  shall  be  one  of  a 
few  hours  only,  or  one  of  years,  depends  much  on  the  skill 
of  the  writer  in  making  all  the  facts  depend  upon  one  an- 
other so  closely  and  so  evidently  that  the  lapse  of  a  long 
time  between  cause  and  effect  is  either  lost  sight  of  or  else 
is  felt  as  an  essential  element  of  the  situation.  Neverthe- 
less, the  general  nature  of  the  conte  dictates  that,  when 
the  plot  incidents  are  several  and  occur  at  widely  separated 
intervals,  the  most  significant  of  these  shall  be  chosen  as  the 
chief,  to  produce  the  main  situation,  all  the  rest  being 
reduced  to  complete  subordination  as  mere  expositional  or 
ancillary  fact.  The  story  then  constitutes  one  main 

grave"  type  of  story.  It  is  possible  within  a  brief  narrative  to 
skeletonize  the  history  of  a  courtship,  a  life,  or  any  other  series  of 
events  associated  with  a  single  person;  it  is  even  possible  to  make 
this  skeleton  history  interesting  (especially  to  immature  readers 
of  certain — and  uncertain — ages)  ;  but  seldom  indeed  is  it  possible  so 
to  unify  such  a  concatenation  of  condensed  episodes  as  to  produce 
through  them  any  single  effect  at  all  akin  to  that  of  the  dramatic 
short  narrative, 


1S6  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

episode,  incident,  or  event,  supported  by  a  body  of  second- 
ary, explanatory  matter. 

12.  It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  the  unity  which  de- 
pends strictly  upon  the  time  element  is  possible  only  when 
the  chief  incidents  occur  within  a  few  hours  or  possibly 
days.      When  the  story  material  is  distributed  through 
long  periods,  the  unity  is  that  of  action  and  motivation 
(or  of  character)  rather  than  of  time.     Thus,  when  the 
pope's  mule,  after  seven  years  of  waiting,  kicks  Vedene 
zenithward  in  revenge  for  his  scurvy  trick  of  the  earlier 
date,  we  feel  no  break  in  the  action — in  the  operation,  that 
is  to  say,  of  cause  and  effect.    Nor  in  The  Necklace  do  we 
feel  any  break  in  the  continuity,  the  unity;  and  yet  ten 
years  pass  between  the  motivating  happenings   and  the 
revelation  of  the  tragic  outcome.    We  feel  no  break  because 
there  is  no  break;  the  moment  the  necklace  is  lost,  that 
moment  the  outcome  begins — cause  begins  to  work  effect, 
and  skillfully  condensed  and  rapid  narration  carry  it  for- 
ward, creating  the  illusion  of  long  stretches  of  time,  until 
the  full  catastrophe  has  been  achieved  and  is  ready  for 
disclosure  to  the  reader.     We  therefore  say  that,  when 
motivation  is  clear  and  adequate,  unification  results  no 
matter  how  long  the  intervals  between  the  initial  operation 
of  the  cause  and  the  final  production  of  its  effect^ 

13.  Again,  a  more  or  less  satisfactory  unity  may  result 
from  the  association  of  the  events  with  a  single  place  or  set 

9  The  student  is,  of  course,  assumed  to  be  familiar  with  the 
fundamentals  of  narration  as  a  compositional  process.  He  will 
appreciate,  therefore,  that  in  stories  such  as  we  have  just  been 
considering,  the  principle  of  continuity  of  advance  (usually  called 
movement)  is  especially  important.  The  three  means  of  retarded 
movement,  accelerated  movement,  and  emphasized  transition,  are 
here  the  writer's  chief  narrational  dependences, 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION- WRITING         187 

of  surroundings.  This  we  call  unity  of  setting.  Yet  again,, 
incidents  otherwise  unrelated  may  be  akin  in  mood  or  tone 
— that  is,  in  atmosphere  quality — and  therefore,  brought 
together,  may  give  us  unity  of  atmosphere.  Or  yet  again 
various  distinct  incidents  may  each  illustrate  and  develop 
the  same  central  thought  or  truth,  in  which  case  they 
produce,  when  assembled,  unity  of  theme. 

14.  Yet  another  unity,  however,  is  the  unity  most 
often  urged  by  advisers  upon  undertakers  of  the  short 
story — unity  of  action.  Unity  of  action  results  when  the 
one  definite  single  outcome  is  brought  about  by  an  unbroken 
sequence,  or  a  completely  interlocked  set,  of  incidents. 
We  may  without  inaccuracy  call  it  unity  of  motivation, 
provided  that  we  understand  the  motivation  to  be  directed 
to  the  production  of  a  single  outcome.  Unity  of  action  is 
the  necessary  development  of  close-wrought  plot;  and  for 
this  reason  we  need  not  discuss  it  in  detail  here.  ISTo  plot 
incident  needed  for  the  unfolding  and  advancement  of  a 
close-wrought  plot,  will  violate  unity  so  long  as  it  be  kept 
within  the  bounds  of  proportion  in  its  individual  develop- 
ment. And  lest  this  remark  may  seem  perhaps  to  imply 
that  all  non-plot  incidents  violate  unity,  we  will  add  that 
only  such  non-plot  incidents  as  are  episodic  and  digressive 
without  being  at  the  same  time  concentrative  or  intensify- 
ing, necessarily  transgress  the  canon  of  unity  of  action. 
We  have  already  made  clear  the  function  of  the  concentra- 
tive incident  distinguished  from  the  plot  incident.  To 
avoid  a  break  in  the  unity  of  the  action,  therefore,  the 
writer  has  only  to  guard  against  having  more  than  a  single 
final  outcome  to  the  story.  There  may  be  preliminary 
movements,  of  course,  each  having  its  own  individual  out- 
come. But  before  the  story  is  ended,  each  and  all  of  these 


188  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

subordinate  outcomes  must  have  become  incorporated  in 
the  action  of  the  larger  story,  and  made  a  contributing 
cause  of  the  final  outcome.  Unity  of  action,  then,  is  se- 
cured by  providing  the  necessary  body  of  plot  incidents  to 
bring  about  the  single  final  outcome  of  a  close-wrought  plot. 
Its  importance  is  so  obvious  that  we  need  only  to  state  it 
in  order  to  emphasize  it.  It  is  alpha  and  omega  among 
the  unities. 

15.  As  a  closing  word  about  the  management  of  short 
story  materials  with  a  view  to  securing  unity,  we  may  set 
down  yet  another  generalization.  We  can  see  that,  in  order 
to  accomplish  one  purpose,  the  writer  may  be  compelled  to 
neglect  other  equally  legitimate  purposes  which  he  might 
pursue  by  means  of  his  dramatic  narrative.  In  emphasiz- 
ing theme,  for  example,  he  may  find  it  necessary  to  pay 
less  attention  to  characterization.  But  no  prudent  writer 
will  neglect  any  of  the  desirable  ends  of  dramatic  narrative 
at  any  time  if  he  can  serve  them  together  without  the 
sacrifice  of  his  single  dramatic  effect  at  the  end.  Unless 
compelled  by  inconquerable  difficulties,  he  will  not  slight 
characterization  in  the  story  of  theme  or  of  action,  nor 
atmosphere  in  the  story  which  is  to  be  effective  through  a 
surprise  ending,  nor  action  in  the  theme  story.  He  will 
recognize  that  the  more  thoroughly  he  presents,  at  one  and 
the  same  time,  all  the  elements  of  fiction  (all  the  time 
duly  subordinating  them  to  his  dominating  purpose),  the 
more  thoroughly  will  he  succeed  in  his  artistic  aim.  Our 
closing  generalization  is,  therefore,  this :  In  any  story,  the 
fullest  unity  will  usually  depend  upon  the  observance  to- 
gether of  all  the  different  sorts  of  unity — unity  of  person 
and  character,  of  time,  of  place,  of  motivation  and  action, 
of  atmosphere,  and  of  theme.  In  proportion  as  these  are 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING        189 

respected  and  utilized  in  the  story,  in  still  greater  propor- 
tion will  that  story  at  the  end  produce  a  completely  unified 
impression. 

XXIII.  DECISION  UPON  PLOT  AND  SELECTION  OF  DE- 
VELOPING MATERIAL  MUST  BE  DETERMINED  BY  THE 
AUTHOR'S  DETAILED  FAMILIARITY  WITH  THE  FACTS 
INVOLVED 

1.  Young  (that  is,  inexperienced)  writers  are  notorious 
for  selecting  themes  and  materials  that  they  cannot  handle. 
Sometimes  such  a  choice  of  unsuitable  material  arises  only 
from  their  lack  of  knowledge  of  what  constitutes  dramatic 
value;  sometimes  it  results  more  from  a  mere  personal 
dissatisfaction  with  life  and  environment — the  writer  as- 
suming that  because  his  vain  imaginings  of  a  life  dif- 
ferent from  the  sort  he  leads,  satisfy  him  and  solace  his 
restlessness,  they  are,  of  course,  suited  to  entertain  and  im- 
press other  people.    The  mistake  is  fatal. 

2.  Mere  personal   dis-ease   and  ferment  have   seldom 
made  an  artist.     They  never  did  so  unless  the  fermenting 
person  possessed  in  no  inconsiderable  amount  artistic  in- 
sight and  judgment  coupled  with  energy  enough  to  make 
him  put  his  dramatic  conceptions  of  better  things  into 
finished,  artistic  form.     Even  with  the  greatest,  the  at- 
tainment of  some  degree  of  settled  conviction  seems  neces- 
sary to  the  production  of  the  best  work ;  the  output  of  the 
sturm-und-drang  period — of  the  turbulent  youthful  days 
when  immaturity  is  kicking  against  the  pricks  and  tem- 
perament and  reason  are  seeking  a  working  relationship 
with  the  world — perhaps  never  reaches  the  excellence  of 
that   which  is  put   forth  when  the  man  has   developed, 


190  SHORT  STOKIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

through  questioning,  impulse,  and  conflict,  a  more  perma- 
nent and  self-controlled  attitude.  The  best  work  of  any 
man  is  not  that  of  his  spiritual  unrest,  impulse,  and  re- 
bellion. Schiller's  The  Robbers  does  not  compare  with  his 
Wallenstein;  ShakspereV  earlier  plays  cannot  compare 
with  those  written  when  he  had  come  to  a  deeper,  though 
a  sadder,  understanding  with  the  world ;  Dante's  New  Life 
does  not  compare  with  The  Divine  Comedy. 

3.  Even  with  the  masters,  the  storm-and-stress  work 
is  comparatively  of  inferior  worth.     The  greatest  art — 
with  the  individual  artist  as  with  the  world's  art — is  posi- 
tive, not  negative,  constructive,  not  destructive,  fuller  of 
faith  than  of  ferment.    It  is  eager,  not  so  much  to  protest 
as  to  see  and  know,  in  order  that  it  may  report  and  inter- 
pret ;  and  therefore,  it  does  not  cultivate  itself  as  a  solace 
and  escape,  but  as  a  means  to  the  expression  of  great  con- 
ceptions sprung  from  great  understandings  of  the  world  it 
has  studied  and  experienced.    Therefore  again,  it  is  always 
aware,  not  of  merely  the  bare  facts,  but  of  the  larger, 
deeper  facts  of  which   these   things   are  solely  outward 
signs  and  symbols.    It  has  learned  to  stand  aside  and  esti- 
mate the  value  of  its  possessor's  knowledge  and  experience 
as  material  for  presenting  concretely  the  conceptions  of 
life  which  take  form  in  the  mind  of  the  artist.     In  this 
sense,  it  is  detached,   impersonal,   coldly  practical,   and 
unimpassioned.     It  never  makes  the  mistake  of  thinking 
that,  because  an  author  is  irritated  by  a  pebble  in  his 
shoe,  he  is,  therefore,  qualified  to  write  a  history  of  the 
journey  of  life. 

4.  It  does  not  follow,  however,  that  since  the  author 
accepts  and  rejects  materials  according  to  their  value  for 
his  artistic  purpose,  only  certain  limited  kinds  of  fact  are 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  or  FICTION-WRITING         191 

available  to  him.  To  the  skillful  artist,  and  under  suitable 
conditions,  any  fact  whatever  is  available.  On  this  we 
will  not  linger;  it  is  more  to  our  purpose  to  note  that  the 
availability  of  any  fact  to  a  writer  depends  on  himself 
much  more  than  it  does  on  the  fact  itself.  If  he  lack 
dramatic  instinct — if  he  have  not  the  architectonic  sense, 
the  sense  of  the  master-builder  for  form  and  method, 
whereby  he  discriminates  justly  between  what  at  the 
moment  will  and  what  will  not  best  body  forth  his  con- 
ception, best  serve  his  constructive  and  interpretive  purpose 
by  concretely  expressing  it, — he  can  scarcely  use  any  facts 
effectively,  no  matter  what  they  be.  Without  the  dramatic 
sense,  the  constructive  instinct  for  form  and  method,  the 
master's  judgment  of  the  pliant  suitability  and  expedient 
adaptability  of  certain  facts  over  all  others  for  his  partic- 
ular purpose — without  these,  the  writer  is  a  landlubber 
adrift  on  an  uncharted  sea,  lacking,  moreover,  a  compass 
and  knowing  not  even  the  fixed  stars. 

5.  The  truth  is,  that  the  value  of  any  fact  for  dramatic 
narrative  does  not  lie  in  the  fact  as  a  fact,  but  in  its 
efficacy  (direct  or  indirect)  in  bringing  on  an  outcome 
that  is  significant.  Just  what  significance  is,  is  hard  to 
define.  The  veriest  skit  will  sometimes  interest  us,  lure 
us  on  to  its  conclusion,  and  satisfy  us  with  its  outcome,  and 
yet  have  no  outcome  that  drives  home  a  serious  truth, 
gives  a  philosophical  view  of  life,  or  otherwise  seems  to 
be  of  permanent  worth.7  On  the  other  hand,  the  most 
labored  and  serious  narrative,  ending  in  tragedy  and  ruin, 

7  Our  satisfaction  comes  from  having  realized  through  the  skit 
some  aspect  of  life  or  feeling,  even  though  but  a  trivial  one — the 
presentation  having  in  addition  possessed  the  quality  of  being 
"  interesting,"  as  people  are  who  can  hold  our  attention  pleasantly 
and  escape  boring  us, 


192  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

may  fail  to  leave  us  with  a  sense  of  its  being  in  any  true 
way  an  interpretation  of  life  (we  usually  describe  it  as 
"  not  convincing  "). 

6.  Apparently,  then,  we  must  in  the  long  run  judge 
every  conte  8  according  to  its  outcome  and  effect.     If  it 
leave  us  with  a  sense  of  having  been  in  touch  with  life  as 
it  is,  or  as  it  ought  to  be — if  it  interpret  to  us  some  person, 
motive,  deed,  environment,  or  truth,  in  such  a  way  that 
we  feel  our  time  well  spent  in  getting  the  interpretation — 
we  are  warranted  in  saying  that  the  outcome  has  signifi- 
cance.    That  outcome  is  significant  which,  helped  out  by 
the  narrative,  produces  in  us  a  better  understanding  of 
existence,  the  sense  of  having  realized  or  of  understanding 
life  or  men  more  fully,  or  a  feeling  of  sympathy  either  with 
our  fellows  in  general  or  with  the  individuals  portrayed  in 
the  story;  or  which  in  some  other  way  leaves  us  with  the 
feeling  that  we   have  increased  either  our  mental,   our 
emotional,  or  our  spiritual  well-being  or  experience.    But 
for  its  fullness  this  assertion  is  identical  with  the  briefer 
one  that  declares  the  purpose  of  fiction  to  be,  either  to 
divert  and  amuse,  or  to  interpret  life;  but  it  has  along 
with  the  disadvantages  of  length  the  advantage  of  setting 
forth  a  list  of  those  matters  which  are  the  source  of  the 
diversion  or  the  interpretation. 

7.  Now,  the  man  with  the  dramatic  instinct  is  the  man 
who  can  sense  in  a  fact  or  a  group  of  facts  the  potentiality 
of  a  situation  and  outcome  that  will  thus  divert  or  make 
real  and  interpret.     The  facts  suggest  to  him  a  situation, 
or  a  series  of  incidents  and  situations,  that  will  either 
amuse  us  or  make  us  think  or  feel  more  or  less  deeply; 

8  Equally  applicable  to  the  novel  and  other  forms  of  fiction — but 
emphasizing  "  outcome  "  less. 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING        193 

they  fall  into  organized  relationships  in  his  imagination, 
growing  through  a  critical  period  to  a  climactic  moment ; 
he  fore-visions  this  moment  and  its  outcome,  sensing  its 
power  to  amuse  or  otherwise  stir  and  stimulate  people — he 
"  sees  a  story  "  and  an  impressive  outcome  in  them.  But 
the  man  who  can  thus  fore-vision  such  a  series  of  situations 
and  perceive  the  effective  outcome  whereto  they  lead,  is 
comparatively  rare ;  he  is  the  "  born "  story-teller,  the 
"  natural  "  dramatist,  whose  work  will  be  of  the  highest 
dramatic  quality.  A  greater  number  of  persons  have  this 
ability  to  a  limited  extent,  and  by  assiduous  training  can 
develop  in  themselves  a  reasonable  degree  of  skill  in  the 
conceiving  and  writing  of  stage  or  narrative  drama ;  a  still 
larger  number  have  just  enough  of  it  to  appreciate  good 
artistry  in  play  or  story,  but  not  enough  ever  themselves  to 
become  proficient  playwrights  or  story-tellers.  These  sup- 
ply the  "  educated  public  "  to  whom  the  artist  must  look 
for  anything  like  a  just  evaluation  of  his  work;  but  un- 
fortunately even  they,  lacking  the  creative  gift,  and  owing 
their  development  largely  to  training  based  on  the  stand- 
ards of  preceding  generations  or  past  ages,  are  sometimes 
conservatively  slow  to  recognize  the  merits  of  newer 
methods  and  newer  embodiments  of  the  eternal  truths. 

8.  There  remain,  however,  all  that  part  of  the  populace 
who  have  so  little  of  the  dramatic  instinct,  or  have  it  so 
little  developed,  that  they  are  incapable  of  discriminating 
the  significant  from  the  insignificant,  and  who,  therefore, 
are  not  able  to  tell  the  worth-while  from  the  worthless. 
Probably  this  part  is  larger  than  all  the  others  combined. 
And  yet  most  of  the  people  belonging  to  it  are  to  some 
extent  readers — a  fortunate  thing,  perhaps,  since  they 
afford  a  market  for  many  writers  who  cannot  reach  higher 


194  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

than  the  mediocre,  and  (a  good  deal  more  to  the  point) 
since  their  reading  habit  must  in  the  end  bring  them  to  a 
higher  standard  and  thus  improve  the  popular  standards 
generally.  Yet  always  there  will  be  a  large  reading  public 
incapable  of  justly  valuing  stories,  because  lacking  in 
dramatic  and  artistic  instinct,  insight,  and  sympathy ;  they 
cannot  evaluate  incidents  or  other  materials  of  artistic  pres- 
entation, cannot  relate  them  justly  to  .one  another  in  their 
own  minds,  cannot  comprehend  them.  Hence  they  are 
blind  alike  to  significance  or  to  lack  of  significance  in  the 
outcome  itself.  In  thus  discussing  the  public  which  reads, 
we  are  not  in  fact  getting  away  from  discussion  of  the 
author  who  writes,  for,  from  what  we  have  said,  it  is  easy 
to  return  to  the  assertion,  that  the  great  writers  of  the 
short  story  must  be  born  such  before  they  can  make  them- 
selves such,  and  that  only  those  with  enough  dramatic  in- 
stinct to  recognize  the  possible  outcomes  latent  in  any  fact 
or  group  of  facts,  and  the  potential  significance  of  such 
outcomes,  can  hope  even  for  mediocre  success  in  the  writing 
of  dramatic  narrative. 

.  9.  "  But/'  the  young  writer  with  ideas  of  the  "power  " 
of  literature  will  by  this  time  be  exclaiming — "  But  you 
have  not  said  a  thing  about  my  view  of  life !  Doesn't  this 
cut  any  figure  in  my  story  writing  ?  Am  I  not  to  choose 
great  and  noble  and  powerful  themes,  and  then  select  my 
materials  with  reference  to  them  ?  You  speak  as  if  I  were 
to  be  merely  a  reporter,  but  I  want  to  be  in  charge  of  an 
editorial  page.  I  have  a  message  for  the  world;  I  have 
something  to  say;  I  want  to  write  in  order  to  express  my 
view  of  life !  " 

10.    Perhaps  the  zealous  young  story  writer  who  believes 
in  the  "  influence  "  of  literature  is  right  in  his  conviction 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION- WRITING        195 

that  the  author's  view  of  life  should  determine,  or  at  least 
help  to  determine,  his  choice  of  materials  and  his  purpose. 
We  will  agree  with  him,  provided  that  he  and  we  can  agree 
upon  a  definition  of  "  view  of  life."  To  reach  an  under- 
standing, let  us  talk  over  two  or  three  matters.  First  of 
all,  we  have  decided  already  that  there  is  no  reason  in  the 
nature  of  things  why  short  stories  cannot  be  written  suc- 
cessfully as  both  contes  and  purpose  stories.  But  at  the 
same  time  we  noted  the  greater  difficulty  of  producing  a 
thoroughly  artistic  story  that  should  be  also  a  purpose 
story.  This  difficulty  should  be  a  caution  to  the  writer 
not  to  attempt  the  exploitation  of  his  view  of  life  unless 
his  experience  and  skill  assure  him  of  ability  to  develop  his 
chosen  theme  in  a  truly  dramatic  narrative — to  embody  it 
in  a  true  short  story,  not  merely  to  present  some  incidents 
and  situations  illustrative  of  the  theme.  And  we  have 
seen  just  above,  that  the  only  hope  of  producing  a  true 
short  story  lies  in  the  possession  of  the  dramatic  instinct ; 
we  may  have  all  the  "  views  of  life  "  that  could  be  found 
in  an  epitome  of  the  world's  philosophies,  and  write  stories 
about  them  from  youth  to  old  age,  yet  fail  to  produce  even 
one  true  conte  unless  we  have  also  this  dramatic  and 
artistic  sense.  And  if  we  have  the  artistic  and  dramatic 
sense,  together  with  a  seeing  eye,  we  can  write  any  number 
of  short  stories  that  will  express  a  view  of  life,  whether  we 
have  this  end  in  mind  or  not.  For  (we  repeat)  a  true 
report  of  any  coherent  portion  of  life  cannot  fail  to  embody 
a  truth  about  life;  the  theme  is  there  regardless  of  the 
writer.  Life  states  and  illustrates  its  own  themes,  and  it 
interprets  them  itself. 

11.    Hence,  although  the  earnest  young  person's  aspira- 
tion to  be  a  writer  of  leading  articles  for  the  editorial 


196  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

page  of  the  great  periodical  of  life  is  natural,  it  is  often 
dangerous  to  his  success  and  usefulness,  and  almost  always 
unnecessary  from  any  point  of  view.  The  editorial  page 
of  the  newspaper  is  valuable  and  necessary — but  it  is  the 
"  big  story  "  written  by  the  good  reporter  and  placed  prom- 
inently on  the  front  page,  that  mostly  sells  the  paper.  It 
sells  the  paper  because  it  is  that  wherein  the  reader  finds 
immediate  contact  with  life  and  men ;  the  editor  gives  him 
a  formal  interpretation  of  men  and  events,  but  the  reporter 
(if  he  be  a  good  reporter)  comes  far  nearer  to  giving  him 
the  men  and  the  events  themselves.  And  the  men  and  the 
events,  not  primarily  the  statement  of  their  meaning,  is  the 
thing  of  interest  to  the  reader.  According  to  his  ability — 
greater  or  less  as  the  case  may  be — the  reader  will  find  the 
interpretation  for  himself  if  the  report  be  adequate.  And 
herein  is  more  than  a  passing  hint  for  the  writer.  As 
it  is  primarily  the  news  report  and  not  the  editorial  article 
that  makes  the  newspaper,  so  it  is  primarily  the  report 
and  not  the  interpretation  that  makes  the  drama,  either 
acted  or  narrated.  The  author  can  have  no  higher  ideal 
than  the  ideal  of  the  great  reporter — so  accurately  to  report 
the  significant  facts  that  their  meaning  is  evident  without 
extraneous  interpretation.  He  will  use  not  quite  the  same 
reporting  method,  but  he  will  aim  at  the  same  result.  He 
will  tell  the  essential  facts  in  such  a  way  that  they  will 
reveal  their  own  meaning. 

12.  Yet  inevitably  every  man — and  the  artist  much 
more  than  most  other  men — will  have  his  individual  view 
of  life,  and  this  view  of  life  will  to  no  small  degree  color 
and  determine  his  report.  He  will  not  voluntarily  permit 
it  to  distort  his  report  or  falsify  his  presentation,  but  he 
will  not  attempt  to  see  things  otherwise  than  as  they  appear 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING         197 

to  him.  To  this  extent,  his  view  of  life  must  and  should 
enter  into  his  writing.  It  is  that  which  gives  him  a 
personal  point  of  view,  a  body  of  standards,  a  set  of  tests, 
a  touchstone,  by  which  to  estimate  the  significance  of 
situations  and  events,  of  traits  of  character,  of  motives, 
of  outcomes ;  in  brief,  the  meanings  of  all  those  innumer- 
able facts  with  which  he  has  to  deal.  This  means  only 
(but  very  emphatically  does  mean)  that  the  writer  shall 
have  thought  over  and  studied  the  substance  and  materials 
of  his  art  until  he  is  thoroughly  acquainted  with  them — 
until  with  the  authoritative  judgment  of  the  expert  he  can 
formulate  opinions  well  enough  founded  upon  knowledge 
and  professional  experience  to  merit  presentation  in  con- 
crete form  to  the  world.  Only  thus  can  he  "  write  of  the- 
thing-as-he-sees-it  for  the  God  of  things-as-they-are." 

13.  By  view  of  life,  then,  we  shall  agree  not  to  mean  a 
set  of  theories  and  hypotheses  to  be  expounded  and  argu- 
mentatively  established,  albeit  the  great  artist  can  expound 
and  establish  such  theories  by  means  of  fiction.  We  mean, 
rather,  that  more  or  less  consistent  and  unified  set  of 
personal  opinions  and  feelings  which  determines  the 
writer's  attitude  toward  existence  in  the  abstract — that  is, 
existence  separate  and  apart  from  him  personally.  This 
assertion,  however,  requires  a  little  explanation.  In  saying 
that  the  writer's  outlook  is  an  outlook  on  existence  in  the 
abstract,  we  do  not  imply  that  this  outlook  shall  not  be 
affected  by  his  personal  experience  of  life.  Were  such 
an  outlook  possible — and  it  is  not — it  would  be  worthless ; 
we  had  as  well  have  seasickness  described  by  a  man  who 
has  lived  all  his  life  in  the  Sahara  and  never  mounted  a 
camel.  What  we  imply  is  an  outlook  generalized  from  the 
world's  theory  and  practice  in  the  light  of  personal  observa- 


198  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

tion  and  personal  experience.  As  thus  generalized,  the 
writer's  view  of  life  may  be  largely  independent  of  and 
different  from  his  individual  practice  of  existence — from 
his  individual  morality,  the  "  practical  ethic "  of  his 
personal  existence.  Not  infrequently,  his  individual 
practice  will  show  many  departures  from  the  view  of  life 
— life  as  it  is,  or  as  it  ought  to  be — embodied  in  his  writ- 
ings. This  is  inevitable.  He  lives  his  own  life  as  he  must 
and  can ;  but  upon  life  in  general  he  looks  with  detachment, 
as  a  thing  to  be  regarded  removedly  if  not  impersonally, 
and  with  scientific  coldness.  True,  notable  fiction  has  been 
written  expressly  to  body  forth  personal  -experience,  the 
emotional  and  spiritual  history  and  views  of  the  author 
as  well  as  the  external  events  of  his  life.  But  in  much 
fiction  of  this  sort,  research  shows,  there  has  been  extensive 
manipulation,  modification,  and  idealization ;  the  "  auto- 
biographical element  "  has  been  largely  and  freely  altered, 
sometimes  even  transformed,  in  the  treatment.  Moreover, 
when  this  has  not  occurred,  the  world  has  usually  found 
somewhat  of  weakness  and  inconclusiveness  in  the  work. 
The  artist,  we  are  compelled  to  acknowledge,  is  larger  and 
more  important  than  the  man  he  inhabits,  and  the  artist's 
view  of  life  is  consequently  larger,  saner,  more  human, 
and  more  conclusive-  than  the  outlook  merely  of  the  man. 
And  it  is  this  broader  outlook,  this  generalized  opinion  and 
conclusion  about  life,  not  to  be  expounded  and  exploited 
as  theory,  but  to  be  bodied  forth  in  the  concrete  form  of 
imagined  incident  and  character,  at  which  the  writer  had 
better  aim;  for  it  is  this  view,  rather  than  any  more 
personal,  emotional,  and  impulsive  body  of  opinion,  that 
can  most  helpfully  enter  into,  inspire,  stimulate,  and  give 
lasting  interpretive  value,  to  his  work. 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION- WHITING        199 

14.  Here  we  may  stop  to  answer  a  question  that  divides 
itself  between  the  ethics  of  art  and  the  demands  of  com- 
mercial success  in  writing;  namely,  whether  the  writer 
must  always  believe  or  approve  the  idea,  or  theme  which 
can  be  found  at  the  root  of  the  story  he  writes  ?     Must 
he  so  direct  his  story  that  the  outcome  presented,  the 
thought  exemplified,  shall  be  one  that  he  himself  accepts, 
or  is  he  at  liberty — perhaps  sometimes  under  obligation — 
to  report  life  in  such  forms,  under  such  combinations,  and 
with  such  outcomes,  as  he  would  not  have  it,  or  feels  that 
it  does  not,  possess  ?    Let  us  phrase  this  question  in  various 
ways.    May  he,  with  honesty  to  himself  and  his  art,  report 
life  from  any  and  all  points  of  view  ?     May  he  report  it 
as  the  newspaper  reporter  presents  his  story  of  a  murder, 
a  seduction,  a  terrible  accident,  interpreting,  making  hu- 
manly comprehensible,  without  advocating  the  thing?    As 
a  literary  creator  and  experimenter  in  human  motives  and 
behavior,  must  he  confine  himself  to  creation  only  of  such 
characters  and  deeds  and  situations  as  he  could  approve 
of  in  actual  life  under  the  tests  of  his  personal  theory  of 
morals,  justice,  social  order,  and  the  like  ?    May  he  report 
what  he  knows  to  exist,  even  though  it  be  in  its  nature 
contrary  to  his  own  moral  standards  ?    Is  it  allowable  for 
him  to  study  men  and  women,  motive  and  act,  character 
and  life,  by  means  of  imagined  facts,  persons,  and  situa- 
tions of  a  sort  "  beyond  the  law  "  of  his  own  approval  ? 

15.  Stated  in  terms  like  these,  the  question  loses  a 
good  deal  of  its  seeming  difficulty.    Not  only  is  the  artist 
a  reporter,  who  therefore  must  cover  his  run;  he  is  also 
a  scientific  observer  and  experimenter,  studying  and  trying 
out  life  theoretically  in  many  forms  and  under  many  con- 
ditions, and  communicating  the  notes  of  hi$  research  to 


200  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

the  world.  As  we  have  said  repeatedly,  he  is  under  no 
obligation  to  assume  the  part  of  advocate.  It  needs  no 
assertion,  that  the  writer  who  could  not  conceive  charac- 
ters, incidents,  and  situations  of  a  sort  opposed  to  those  of 
which  he  would  himself  approve,  could  not  enter  deeply 
into  character  or  motive  of  any  sort;  his  treatment  of 
life  would  be  superficial,  because  his  understanding  of  it 
would  be  superficial — and  superficial  is  an  exceedingly 
weak  word  with  which  to  designate  the  fact.  The  great 
duty  of  the  fiction  writer  is  to  interpret  life  by  reporting  it 
accurately;  half  his  possible  usefulness  would  be  made 
impossible  if  he  were  forbidden  to  report  anything  but 
that  in  which  he  himself  believes.9 

16.  The  moral  difficulty  of  the  question  being  thus  re- 
moved, the  commercial  aspects  demand  consideration.  The 
first  of  these  is  that  involving  the  financial  and  worldly 
success  of  the  author.  Shall  the  artist  brave  inevitable 
misunderstanding,  with  consequent  hostility,  censorship, 
and  persecution,  because  he  has  conceived  a  set  of  facts 
that  do  not  square  with  the  always-has-been  or  the  what- 
I-think  of  a  too-much-reading  and  too-little-thinking  world  ? 
Mr.  Arnold  Bennett  advocates  the  prudent  horn  of  the 

9  True,  a  large  part  of  the  public  cannot  conceive  how  this  is 
true.  Lacking  (as  we  have  said)  the  dramatic  instinct,  analytical 
acumen,  and  consequently  the  ability  to  estimate  values  for  them- 
selves; unable  to  distinguish  between  exposition  and  advocacy; 
untrained  to  see  effect  in  cause  and  cause  in  effect;  accustomed  and 
pleased  to  have  their  opinions  supplied  by  others,  since  they  cannot 
safely  trust  their  own  mental  processes;  and  (one  thing  highly  to 
their  credit)  possessed — though  it  be  sometimes  at  second  hand — of 
a  strong  conviction  that  right  is  right  and  wrong  is  wrong; — the 
contemporary  public  in  any  time  is  likely  to  protest  with  all  the 
intensity  of  ignorant  righteousness  against  examples  of  interpretation 
which  are  too  much  for  its  comprehension — provided  that  such  ex- 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING         201 

dilemma ;  go  as  far  as  you  safely  can,  is  the  substance  of 
his  advice — with  the  broad  intimation  that  sometimes  this 
will  not  be  very  far.  Mr.  Bernard  Shaw  exemplifies  the 
go-as-far-as-you-like  theory,  but  he  exemplifies  it  only  in 
the  going.  He  has  not  escaped  hostility  and  venomosity, 
although  his  brilliancy,  independence,  fearlessness,  and 
various  conditions  that  have  aided  him,  have  given  him 
a  success  in  facing  down  a  censorious  public  that  most  of  us 
could  not  expect.  From  the  point  of  view  of  commercial 
success,  Mr.  Bennett  gives  good  advice.  Still  more  a 
matter  of  business  is  the  second  aspect  of  the  commercial 
problem.  If  the  writer  is  to  supply  a  market,  he  must 
provide  an  adequate  supply  of  goods.  To  do  this,  he  will 
sometimes  find  himself  obliged  to  make  stories  out  of 
whatever  materials  are  at  hand.  The  mill  must  be  kept 
grinding,  and  the  miller  cannot  always  wait  until  he  gets 
a  grist  of  good  wheat.  In  all  these  questionings,  the  writer 
must  decide  his  course  of  action  for  himself.  But  one 
may  ask  seriously  whether  the  frequent  construction  of 
stories  wherein  his  own  conviction  or  point  of  view  is 
set  aside  may  not  in  the  long  run  be  likely  to  lessen 

amples  happen  to  be  brought  to  its  attention  sensationally  enough 
to  stir  interest.  Then  we  have  the  amusing  situation  of  a  well- 
meaning  public  raging  against  book,  play,  picture,  or  statue  as 
"  immoral,"  at  the  same  time  accepting  without  qualm  or  thought  the 
"morality"  of  the  melodramatic  photoplay,  of  the  slushy  love-story 
found  in  women's  magazines,  of  the  inexpressibly  stupid  and  vulgar 
"  daily  short  story "  of  the  newspaper,  of  the  burlesque  "  show  "  of 
the  theater,  and  other  forms  of  rain-barrel  or  thunder-bird  literature 
and  drama  poor  enough  or  violent  enough  to  gratify  their  primitive- 
era  taste.  Time,  however,  rectifies  all  these  aberrations  of  that 
"  amoosin'  cuss,"  the  public,  and  the  interpretation  that  is  accurate 
and  true  ultimately  establishes  itself  in  literature  and  performs  its 
part  in  educating  the  world  better  to  understand  itself. 


202  SHORT  STOKIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

the  strength  and  vigor  of  his  earnestness.  The  good 
writer  must  obey  the  injunction  of  "  put  yourself  in  his 
place  "  when  he  portrays  persons  acting.  To  enter  into  the 
thoughts,  feelings,  and  point  of  view  of  another  for  the 
purposes  of  artistic  and  spiritual  comprehension  is,  how- 
ever, one  thing;  to  enter  into  them  for  the  purpose  of 
literary  manufacture  is  another;  and  in  art  as  in  life,  it 
is  sometimes  hard  to  tell  where  honorable  association  ends 
and  virtual  prostitution  begins. 

17.  Here  let  us  summarize.  More  is  necessary  to  the 
writing  of  good  short  story  (conte)  or  stage  drama  than 
the  mere  impulse  to  express  personal  ferment  (or  for  that 
matter,  enthusiasm).  There  must  be  in  the  author,  sup- 
ported and  reinforced  by  an  all-round  literary  sense,  a 
true,  well-developed  sense  of  the  dramatic — of  significances 
distinguished  from  trivialities  and  non-significances,  and 
of  the  relations  of  cause  and  effect  (i.e.,  a  sense  for  the 
motivation  of  situations  truly  illustrative  or  interpretive 
of  life) .  This  dramatic-literary  instinct  will  find  the  most 
effective  expression  through  accurate  reporting  based  upon 
insight  and  the  possession  of  the  essential  facts,  such  pres- 
entation being  what  gives  effect  even  to  stories  that  are 
frankly  purpose  stories.  But  for  such  reporting,  a  set  of 
standards  is  necessary,  and  this  set  of  standards  is  found 
in  the  writer's  view  of  life,  which  guides  him  in  seeing 
and  presenting  facts,  and  animates  or  gives  spirit  to  his 
work.  But  his  view  of  life  need  not  stand  in  the  way  of 
his  portraying  themes,  characters,  or  situations  that  are 
in  opposition  to  it  (especially  when  the  presentation  is 
objective).  As  a  student  of  and  experimenter  with  the 
facts  and  influences  of  human  life,  he  is  at  liberty  to 
make  fictional  report  of  things  as  he  sees  them,  be  they 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING         203 

what  they  are;  and  he  may,  therefore,  portray  that  with 
which  he  lacks  personal  (but  not  artistic)  sympathy,  or 
that  which  is  inconsistent  with  his  personal  (or  with  the 
usual  worldly)  view  of  life,  provided  that  the  spirit  in 
which  he  makes  the  portrayal  is  that  of  the  artist,  and  that 
he  stop  short  if  at  any  time  he  find  himself  making  the 
portrayal  in  a  way  that  violates  his  fundamental  sense  of 
propriety  and  truth.  The  adjustment  between  personal 
and  artistic  conscience  on  the  one  hand  and  the  presenta- 
tion of  uncongenial  or  uncommended  or  unaccepted  motifs, 
themes,  situations,  and  outcomes  on  the  other,  must  be  left 
to  the  individual  writer.  Conscience,  especially  the  true 
artistic  conscience,  will  be  his  safest  guide,  and  will,  if 
he  have  it  in  sufficient  degree,  protect  him  from  over- 
yielding  to  the  temptations  and  constraints  of  the  literary 
manufacturing  industry. 

18.  Giving  all  these  considerations  due  weight,  we 
come  to  that  assertion  which  is  of  most  practical  importance 
to  the  student  seeking  knowledge  that  he  can  turn  to  use 
in  the  writing  of  stories.  This  is,  that  his  decision  upon 
a  plot,  and  Ms  selection  of  materials  wherewith  to  develop 
his  story,  should  be  determined  by  his  familiarity  and 
lack  of  familiarity  with  the  facts  that  will  be  involved  in 
presenting  the  story  so  conceived  and  planned.  The  noblest 
conception,  the  most  dramatic  plot,  the  finest  literary  art 
in  the  construction  and  setting  forth  of  the  story,  will 
be  but  as  a  mirage  in  the  desert  unless  given  substance  and 
reality  by  adequate  information.  The  author  must  know 
what  he  is  writing  about — and  the  emphasis  is  here  on 
KNOW  and  not  on  what.  No  one  can  write  effectively 
in  any  but  a  superficial  and  general  way  about  that  with 
which  he  is  not  familiar.  This  sounds  like  a  truism — and 


204  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

it  is.  But  people  are  often  blind  to  the  importance  of 
truisms,  and  the  tendency  of  inexperienced  writers  to  at- 
tempt incidents,  plots,  situations,  settings,  and  characters 
that  are  remote  from  their  experience — about  which  they 
in  truth  have  only  vague  impressions  and  smattering  in- 
formation— is  so  strong  that  the  danger  lying  in  it  calls  for 
emphatic  presentation. 

19.  The  reason  why  familiarity  with  the  particular  sort 
of  scene,  persons,  and  acts  to  be  depicted,  is  necessary  to 
the  author — why  he  cannot  depend  merely  on  his  general 
knowledge  of  men  and  affairs — is  plain.  Because  in  his 
story  he  must  show  forth  life  in  appropriate  concrete 
forms,  and  because  this  cannot  be  done  from  merely  general 
knowledge,  the  writer  must  know  his  people  and  places 
with  an  all-round  knowledge  that  includes  details  as  well 
as  general  facts.  Were  story-writing  but  the  finding  of 
a  general  human  motive  for  action  that  is  more  or  less 
abstractly  conceived,  the  story-dramatist  could  get  along 
with  a  general  stock  of  information  about  human  nature 
and  stock  character  traits.  But  story-writing  is  no  such 
thing.  It  succeeds  only  when  it  bodies  forth  its  conceptions 
concretely  and  with  variety  of  true  detail.  Therefore, 
it  must  know  with  extreme  intimacy  and  fullness  the  facts 
with  which  it  deals.  To  base  a  story  on  the  general  fact 
that  men  who  are  in  love  are  likely  to  behave  foolishly,  it 
must  go  beyond  the  general  idea  of  "  men  in  love  " ;  it 
must  pass  on  to  the  concrete  of  "  this  man  " — a  particular, 
individual  man,  millionaire,  mechanic,  or  costermonger, 
handsome  or  ugly,  manly  or  effeminate,  honorable  or 
treacherous,  graceful  or  awkward,  and  so  on.  The  million- 
aire in  love  will  doubtless  do  just  as  foolish  things  as  the 
costermonger  similarly  deranged — but  not  always  the 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING         205 

same  kinds  of  thing.  Nor  will  he  do  them  in  the  same 
sort  of  surroundings,  nor  before  the  same  class  of  people ; 
neither  will  he  and  the  people  about  him  dress  or  speak 
as  will  the  costermonger  and  his  associates.  A  writer, 
therefore,  whose  knowledge  of  costermongers  enabled  him 
to  do  an  excruciatingly  humorous  story  of  costermongers 
in  love,  might  fail  utterly  in  the  same  sort  of  story  about 
millionaires  in  love,  unless  he^  knew  millionaires  as  thor- 
oughly as  he  knew  costermongers. 

20.  Evidently,  every  part  of  the  narrative  must  be 
worked  out  down  to  details,  with  a  fullness  proportioned  to 
its  importance ;  and  in  all  important  parts  of  the  narrative 
these  details  are  always  concrete  particulars  of  such  specific 
sort   as    makes    them    thoroughly    representative    of   the 
persons,  the  kinds  of  character,  the  locale,  the  occupation 
and  social  rank,  the  habits,  customs,  mannerisms,  speech, 
and  thought,  with  which  the  story  seeks  to  deal.     Unless 
the  story  be  thus  worked  out  in  the  concrete,  it  can  scarcely 
be  said  to  belong  to  fiction  at  all ;  and  unless  the  concrete 
particulars  are  true  to  the  life,  persons,  places,  occupations, 
and  atmosphere  that  they  seek  to  present,  they  fail  the 
writer  as  a  means  of  giving  plausible  outward  form  to 
his  conception.     Intimate  familiarity  with  his  materials, 
even  down  to  minute  detail,  is  indispensable  in  the  produc- 
tion   of    consistent,    convincing,    and    truly    interpretive 
dramatic  narrative. 

21.  If  from  this  the  student  does  not  realize  the  wisdom 
of  getting  out  among  men  and  mingling  (though  it  be  but 
as  an  observer)  in  their  activities,  we  will  not  urge  it  on 
him;   we  will  leave  him  to  go  on  wondering  why  less 
studious,  less  scholarly,  and  less  "  educated  "  men,  who  do 
nothing  but  run  about  amongst  folk,  are  "  getting  their 


206  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

stuff  over  "  so  often !  But  we  know  the  reason.  The  ob- 
jectionable fellow  who  succeeds  is  rubbing  elbows  with 
life ;  he  is  getting  "  next "  (Anglo-Saxon,  "  that  which  is 
closest  to  ")  to  life  in  the  best  way — by  mingling  with  and 
becoming  part  of  it.  He  is  learning,  not  merely  to  look 
in  from  the  outside,  but  to  go  inside  and  look  out,  and 
still  more,  to  look  about  him  while  inside.  Of  course  he 
.can  report  life,  for  he  knows  it.  When  he  wishes  to  give 
concrete  form  to  any  conception,  he  has  an  ever  increasing 
store  of  observation  and  information  from  which  to  draw. 
The  man  of  literary  instincts  who  keeps  himself  "  un- 
spotted from  the  world  "  in  his  own  study,  can  perhaps 
succeed  as  poet,  philosopher,  historian  or  essayist,  but 
seldom  indeed  can  he  succeed  as  dramatist  or  fiction- 
writer.  For  to  succeed,  he  must  have  not  only  view-of-life, 
dramatic  sense,  and  artistic  impulse;  he  must  have  also 
such  intimate  and  detailed  knowledge  of  men  and  the  world 
as  will  provide  him  concrete  forms  wherein  to  body  life 
forth.  The  story-writer  who  does  not  make  himself  inti- 
mately familiar  with  the  life  he  would  present,  is  un- 
prepared either  to  conceive  or  to  present  it.  Because  he 
keeps  himself  unspotted  from  the  world,  he  is  more  than 
likely  to  be  unspotted  by  the  world;  for  he  cannot  gain 
its  attention  by  holding  up  before  it  what  it  wants  to  see 
— the  concrete  embodiment  of  itself  in  truly  characteristic 
detail,  imaginatively  created  by  an  artistic  master. 

XXIV.  CHARACTERIZATION  INVOLVES  THE  PRESENTING 
OF  HUMAN  TRAITS,  CLASS  ATTRIBUTES,  AND  PER- 
SONAL TRAITS  AND  MANNERISMS 

1.     In  turning  again  to  the  problems  created  by  the 
presence  of  the  character  element  in  narrative,  we  will  first 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING        207 

repeat  certain  assertions  amplified  in  section  X.     These 
are: 

A.  Character  is  basic  human  nature  shaped  and  modi- 
fied into  particular  traits  and  tendencies  that  are  mani- 
fested in  the  behavior  and  conduct  of  the  person. 

B.  The  second  element  in  human  character   (human 
nature  being  the  first)  is  temperament — the  quality  or  dis- 
position peculiar  to  the  individual. 

C.  In  the  acts  of  men,  which  are  that  through  which 
character  becomes  manifest,  the  element  of  reflective  fore- 
sight is  important — that  quality  wherein  human  action 
frequently  differs  from  animal  action.     The  existence  of 
reflective   foresight,    releasing   the    person    from    purely 
automatic   reactions,    is  what  makes  drama   and   fiction 
possible,  for  it  is  that  which  makes  human  motive  possible 
and  thus  creates  conflict  and  struggle.    Fiction  is  interest- 
ing largely  because  it  shows  us  man  employing,  or  failing 
to  employ,  his  reflective  foresight  in  critical  situations.10 

D.  Character  in  the  individual  is  the  sum  of  his  moral, 
intellectual,   and  physical  instincts,  feelings,  tendencies, 
qualities,  and  habits,  resulting  from  the  union  in  him  of 
human  nature  and  temperament. 

To  these  we  may  now  add:^ 

E.  Single  acts  and  speeches  are  not  sure  revealers  of 
character;  neither  is  psychological  analysis  (or  narration) 
of  thought  and  motive  (recounting  events  of  the  "  stream 
of  consciousness").     Single  acts  and  speeches  are  seldom 
conclusive,  although  they  may  be  very  significant;  they 
throw  light  on,  but  do  not  fully  discover,  character.     CTiar- 

10  We  must  not  understand  that  the  employment  of  reflection  is 
always  necessary  on  the  part  of  the  person.  His  very  failure 
to  reflect  may  be  the  backbone  of  his  comedy  or  tragedy. 


208  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

acter  is  completely  and  conclusively  revealed  only  by  con- 
duct— the  sum  and  outcome,  under  thoroughly  testing 
conditions,  of  the  persons  reflection,  emotion,  impulse,  and 
acts.  Action  not  clearly  the  result  of  predominating  traits 
and  motives  that  will  always  produce  like  conduct  under 
similar  conditions,  is  inconclusive. 

F.  Single  acts  (or  series  of  single  acts)  are  produced 
by  either  (a)  reason,  (b)  feeling,  or  (c)  impulse.    In  (a) 
and  (b),  will  is  present;  the  person  chooses  his  act  through 
reason  or  through  emotional  influences.     But  in  (c),  the 
act  is  instinctive  rather  than  determined.11     As,  however, 
conduct  is  the  result  and  sum  of  single  acts,  the  three 
sources  of  our  acts  are  likewise  the  three  sources  of  con- 
duct.    Therefore,  conduct  is  either  (a)  reasoned-  or  (b) 
not  reasoned. 

G.  We  can  now  proceed  to  another  classification.    Acts 
that  are — 

(a)  indicative  merely  of  human  nature  will  always  tend 
to  be  purely  instinctive  or  emotional. 

(b)  indicative  of  class  characteristics  will  usually  be 
instinctive   or  emotional,  growing  out  of  settled 
class  motives,  customs,  and  feelings ;  but  these  may 
at  times  be  reasoned  upon  more  deliberately  than 
those  of  basic  human  nature  are  likely  to  be. 

(c)  indicative  of  the  individual  temperament  may  be 
either  instinctive,  or  emotional,  or  reflective. 

2.    This  last  classification  (G)  brings  us  to  the-  asser- 

11  Feeling  is  often  the  source  of  impulse.  But  as  our  classification 
is  otherwise  helpful,  and  as  it  works  effectively  for  our  purposes, 
we  will  be  pragmatically  satisfied  with  it,  noting  merely  that 
feeling  sometimes  is  subjected  to  reason  and  sometimes  is  impulsively 
obeyed. 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING        209 

tion  that  the  individual  traits,  qualities,  and  mannerisms 
are  those  which  most  prominently  appear  in  characteriza- 
tion, and  therefore  call  for  the  largest  amount  of  direct 
attention  from  the  writer.  These  traits  and  habits  must 
appear  most  prominently  because,  were  it  otherwise,  the 
persons  would  be  no  more  than  stock  persons,  not  individ- 
uals ;  and  hence  the  main  value  of  characterization — show- 
ing life  in  its  multitude  of  variations — would  be  lost.  Did 
a  writer  present  a  person  in  whose  character  only  the  basic 
elements  of  human  nature  showed,  he  would  present  an 
abstraction,  and  his  fiction  would  therefore  become  an 
allegory,  a  mere  piece  of  narrative  exposition  such  as 
Pilgrims  Progress  is.  The  same  would  be  the  case  to 
almost  as  great  an  extent  did  he  present  us  merely  a  type, 
or  unindividualized  representative,  of  the  lawyer,  the 
doctor,  the  cook,  the  priest,  of  the  explorer,  the  home- 
stayer,  the  lover,  the  achiever,  and  so  on  through  all  the 
class  categories.  But  the  universal  characteristics,  or  even 
the  characteristics  common  to  any  particular  class,  are  not 
those  that  primarily  give  life  its  endless  daily  interest 
through  its  variety  and  consequent  uncertainty.  The  pos- 
session of  individual  traits  and  character  qualities,  of  in- 
dividual habits  and  mannerisms — this  it  is  that  makes  men 
keep  on  interesting  other  men  from  day  to  day  and 
generation  to  generation.  To  present  a  stock  personage, 
a  mere  typeman,  is  not  supremely  difficult.  But  to  present 
a  thoroughly  individualized  person  under  whose  individ- 
uality is  yet  to  be  perceived  the  class  and  the  race  traits,  is 
no  easy  task.  And  this  is  the  task  of  the  fiction  writer. 

3.  A  further  word  of  explanation  may  here  be  useful. 
The  basic  traits  of  human  nature  do  not  offer  in  themselves 
matters  of  sufficient  interest  for  repeated  presentation; 


210  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

they  are  too  few.  The  primary  instincts  and  emotions 
make  no  extensive  list.  Hunger,  sexual  passion,  fear, 
anger — a  few  categories  such  as  these  will  cover  all  that  is 
primarily  an  element  in  human  nature.  Even  affection 
for  offspring  seems  to  be  largely  a  developed  instinct;  so 
that,  although  we  now  regard  it  as  fundamental  among 
civilized  peoples,  it  in  fact  represents  a  considerable  stage 
of  advancement;  many  tribes  show  it  but  sporadically, 
and  possibly  we  shall  not  exaggerate  greatly  if  we  assert 
that  among  beasts  the  dam  sometimes  shows  it  more  con- 
clusively than  do  twentieth-century  mothers  (individual 
instances  are  of  course  what  is  meant).  Such  facts  as 
these,  by  the  way,  illustrate  our  thought,  that  it  is  the 
individual  variations  rather  than  the  fundamental  nature 
that  produces  the  uncertainty  and  immediate  interest  of 
life.  The  same  generalizations  are  true  about  class  char- 
acteristics : 12  the  distinctive  class  traits  are  few,  and  were 
it  not  that  many  men  of  many  temperaments  possess  them 
in  common,  would  afford  little  more  than  a  formula  for 
the  writer — an  unchanging  pattern  on  which  all  his  char- 
acters would  of  necessity  be  shaped.  What  life  actually 
affords,  however,  is  countless  characters  founded  upon 
human  nature  and  more  or  less  also  upon  class  traits,  but 
showing  forth  innumerable  variations  of  this  human  nature 
and  class  attribute  brought  about  by  the  innumerable  varia- 
tions in  the  conditions  of  environment  and  in  the  many 
other  natural  causes  that  are  productive  of  individual 

12  The  student  will  observe  that  class  traits  represent  individualiz- 
ing influences  operating  upon  entire  groups  alike.  The  group  thus 
becomes  individualized  from  the  rest  of  mankind,  and  therefore, 
after  this  has  occurred,  the  individual  traits  of  its  individual  mem- 
bers stand  in  the  same  relation  to  the  collective  traits  of  the  class 
as  to  basic  human  nature. 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING        211 

temper.  Hence,  it  is  only  when  the  character  portrayed 
is  true,  first  to  human  nature,  then  to  class  form™  and 
finally,  to  a  clearly  conceived  individual  temperament  such 
as  is  logically  produced  by  the  determining  causes  of  varia- 
tion, that  we  get  individuality,  or  personality,  the  quality 
so  indispensable  to  complete  characterization.  And  again, 
therefore,  we  must  point  out  the  necessity  of  knowing  not 
only  man,  but  men;  for  nothing  else  will  supply  that  store 
of  understanding  out  of  which  the  author  can  conceive 
characters  that  not  only  are  true  to  race  and  class,  but 
also  show  infinite  human  variety. 

4.  We  come  then  to  this  counsel.  In  characterizing, 
think  rather  negatively  than  positively  of  race  and  group 
traits,  but  very  positively  of  individual  traits;  make  cer- 
tain that  the  materials  selected  ^do  not  violate  the  funda- 
mental truth  of  human  nature  and  class  attribute,  but 
make  equally  certain  that  the  materials  selected  do  present 
a  clearly  conceived  and  clearly  individualized  person 
having  a  personality,  a  character,  all  his  own.  This,  of 

11  In  actual  writing,  the  author  not  infrequently  finds  that  class 
attribute  may  be  safely  disregarded;  only  at  times  does  class 
characteristic  become  important.  There  are,  for  instance,  many 
situations  that  can  as  well  be  worked  out  with  a  preacher  or  a 
gambler  as  the  central  person,  as  with  a  lawyer  or  an  engineer. 
The  conte  is  less  likely  than  the  longer  forms  of  narrative  fiction 
to  give  extended  attention  to  class  trait,  because  its  space  precludes 
much  portrayal  of  character  purely  for  the  sake  of  portrayal.  Even 
in  UH>  most  concentrated  short-story  treatment,  however,  the  preacher 
and  the  gambler  must  be  true  to  type  except  in  those  cases  in 
which  the  story  arises  wholly  or  in  part  from  their  being  untrue 
to  type — and  then  class  trait  is  presented  in  contrast  merely.  The 
point  of  this  comment  is,  then,  that  class  attribute  cannot  be  under- 
taken solely  for  its  own  sake  in  the  short  story,  except  in  cases  of 
Hpociul  rliaricfrr  nim  and  purpose,  when  the  story  itself  depends  on 
the  class  character. 


SHOBT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

course,  advises  no  actual  disregard  of  the  more  general  and 
basic  characteristics,  but  suggests  rather  the  proportionate 
emphasis  that  each  should  receive;  for  it  is  unlikely  that 
any  conception  of  individual  character,  if  true  to  life  in  the 
elements  that  give  it  individuality,  will  be  untrue  to  life 
in  fundamentals.  The  single  character  imagined  from 
intimate  and  accurate  observation  of  the  motives,  acts,  and 
action  of  men,  can  scarcely  fail  to  be  true  to  the  more 
basic  facts  of  human  nature.  Accurate  reporting  will 
take  care  of  this.  Yet  lest  these  assertions  result  even  yet 
in  misapprehension,  let  us  set  down  again  that  the  merely 
individual  character — that  failing  in  its  individuality  also 
to  represent  mankind  and  class — is  scarcely  worth  depict- 
ing ;  at  best,  it  can  be  but  one  of  the  curiosities  of  literary 
portraiture,  a  member  of  the  gallery  of  freaks,  and  it  is 
still  more  likely  to  be  merely  a  nullity  and  "  nixnutz."  14 
5.  Before  considering  specifically  some  of  the  means  of 
presenting  character,  we  may  speak  briefly  of  the  attitude 
taken  by  the  author  toward  the  person  he  is  depicting. 
Two  attitudes  are  possible:  the  author  may  assume  an 
attitude  of  personal  judgment  and  interpretation  toward 
his  creation,  or  he  may  merely  put  it  forth,  then  leave 
it  to  get  understanding  and  win  favor  or  dislike  from 
the  reader  for  itself.  In  letting  appear  his  own  feeling 
toward  or  judgment  of  the  character,  he  will  find  disad- 
vantage along  with  advantage.  Perhaps  the  advantage  lies 
chiefly  in  two  things.  By  letting  his  opinion  of  the 

14  When  the  author's  purpose  is,  to  portray  the  class,  not  the 
individual — to  make  the  person  a  personification  of  a  type,  or  the 
embodiment  of  some  general  trait — the  procedure  is  reversed.  The 
individuality  of  the  character  is  then  minimized,  and  the  person 
transformed  into  a  symbolical  or  allegorical  figure  by  emphasis  of 
the  general  traits. 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION- WRITING-        213 

character  be  seen,  the  author  can  readily  indicate  his  view 
of  life;  yet  just  for  this  reason,  authors — young  authors 
especially — laboring  under  the  belief  that  their  "  message  " 
must  be  conveyed  directly  and  obviously,  are  likely  to  over- 
do their  approval  or  disapproval — as  are  older  writers 
also  who  are  more  fired  with  zealotry  than  possessed  by 
an  artistic  appreciation  of  life,  or  who  permit  themselves 
to  become  enamored  of  or  displeased  by  the  persons  of 
their  story.  Second,  by  distinctly  notifying  the  reader  how 
the  author  regards  the  person,  the  author  gives  incompetent 
understandings  a  push  in  the  direction  he  wishes  them 
to  take. 

6.  But  probably  most  readers  prefer  to  appreciate  the 
character  for  themselves ;  certainly  this  is  true  of  the  more 
cultured   reader,   unless   the    author's   exposition  of  the 
character  be  redeemed  by  some  extrinsic  quality,  such  for 
instance  as  Thackeray's  genial  sarcasm.     The  reader  gets 
interest  out  of  reaching  an  understanding  of  the  person 
by  employing  his  own  faculties  and  judgment,  and  there 
is  loss  of  zest  when  he  finds  himself  served  with  a  meal  of 
predigested  character  breakfast-food.    Moreover,  when  the 
attitude  of  the  author  becomes  sentimentally  admiring  or 
antagonistically  bitter,  readers  are  likely  to  feel  down- 
right dissatisfaction — the  more  so  because  often  in  such 
instances  the  author's  ability  in  character  portrayal  proves 
less  than  his  facility  in  maudlin  approval  or  intolerant 
condemnation. 

7.  Finally,  we  must  reflect  that  in  the  conte  the  space 
allowable  for  direct  or  explicit  expression  of  the  author's 
point  of  view,  is  small  indeed.     Unless  he  can  indicate 
his  attitude  "by  means  of  quick  epithet,  of  adjectives,  ad- 
verbs,  and  phrases  of  characterization  that  imply  rather 


214  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

than  assert  opinion,  giving  it  by  subjective  coloring  rather 
than  by  any  obvious  means — in  brief,  unless  by  suggestion 
he  can  convey  without  obtrusiveness  the  view  he  holds,  he 
can  seldom  with  safety  attempt  such  an  expression  in  the 
short  story.  In  the  novel  he  could  do  it  and,  if  his  atti- 
tude and  philosophy  proved  worth  while,  command  atten- 
tion thereby.  But  the  limitations  of  the  short  story  in  this 
respect  are  far  stricter  than  are  those  of  the  novel.  Yet 
the  short-story  writer  is  not  without  means  even  for 
direct  presentation  of  character  estimates.  He  can  make 
the  persons  in  hijs  story  express,  by  both  word  and  deed, 
their  judgment  of  their  fellow-persons.  By  this  means  and 
by  skillful  suggestion  otherwise,  the  skillful  author  will  be 
fully  able  to  embody  in  his  narrative  his  personal  estimate 
of  any  character  without  at  all  thrusting  himself  into  the 
story  to  do  it.  But  even  when  all  is  said,  the  facts,  ac- 
curately reported,  remain  the  best  means  of  revealing  the 
beauty  or  ugliness,  the  worthiness  or  unworthiness,  of  any 
character,  and  no  adequately  portrayed  person  in  fiction 
will  be  seriously  misjudged  by  competent  readers,  even 
though  the  author's  attitude  toward  him  be  left  wholly 
unrevealed. 

XXV.  "  CHARACTER  "  IMPLIES  AN  ORIGINAL  CONCEP- 
TION OF  A  PERSON  HAVING  DEFINITE  INDIVIDUALITY  ; 
ITS  TRAITS  BEING  PORTRAYED  BY  DESCRIPTION, 
ANALYSIS,  PSYCHOLOGICAL  NARRATION,  AND  ESPE- 
CIALLY ACT  AND  SPEECH 

1.  How  is  an  individual  character  created  in  fiction? 
Is  it  copied  from  the  character  of  some  person — a  repro- 
duction of  an  original?  Many  persons,  even  critics  who 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING        215 

might  know  better,  seem  to  think  so;  for  we  find  endless 
attempts  going  on  to  identify  the  "  original "  of  this  or 
that  noted  person  of  fiction.  Yet  even  when  there  in  fact 
is  an  original,  the  copying  is  always  so  free — the  suppres- 
sion of  traits  that  are  present  in  the  original,  the  addition 
of  traits  not  present  in  the  original,  and  the  placing  of 
emphasis  upon  certain  traits  in  preference  to  others — all 
this  is  so  common,  as  to  make  most  copies  nothing  but 
highly  idealized  derivatives  of  the  original  character. 
When  scientific  biography  gets  to  work  upon  these 
"  copies,"  it  nearly  always  proves  that  the  most  which  the 
fictional  presentation  accomplishes  is,  to  give  a  suggestive, 
but  not  an  accurate,  portrayal — to  show  what  the  person 
copied  might  have  been,  but  not  what  he  was.  Art,  in 
fiction  or  out  of  it,  cannot  produce  copies  of  actual  tilings; 
it  must  adapt,  modify,  and  indeed  build  entirely  anew. 

2.  Yet  the  conte  is  better  adapted  to  the  copying  of 
actual  character  than  is  the  novel.  The  short  story  must 
confine  itself  to  some  dominant  trait,  or  at  most  to  a  few 
prominent  traits;  all  beyond  this  it  must  either  exclude 
or  merely  hint  at  and  suggest.  True,  in  the  best  artistry, 
this  hinting  will  be  so  managed  as  to  give  the  reader  the 
impression  of  character  completeness;  it  will  make  him 
see  the  character  in  perspective,  with  the  least  possible 
amount  of  that  distortion  which  must  follow  the  emphasiz- 
ing of  but  a  single  trait  or  small  group  of  traits.  Even 
so,  however,  it  cannot  attain  to  complete  character  presen- 
tation. But  because  one  of  its  legitimate  and  necessary 
methods  is,  thus  to  select  out  and  deal  with  some  dominant 
element  of  character,  relegating  the  many  modifying  and 
accompanying  elements  to  relative  obscurity,  the  short  story 
can  upon  occasion  more  successfully  base  itself  thus  upon 


216  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

some  prominent  trait  in  an  actual  person,  than  can  the 
ampler  novel;  and  by  selecting  also  the  environment  and 
incident  appertaining  to  this  person  in  actual  life,  it  can 
thus  produce  a  "  copy  "  of  the  "  original "  that  will  be 
effective.  Yet  even  the  short  story,  in  making  this  repro- 
duction of  an  actual  character,  must  omit,  tone  down,  tone 
up,  and  otherwise  manipulate,  modify,  and  idealize  the 
facts  in  accordance  with  the  requirements  of  dramatic  plot 
and  artistic  impression.  Moreover,  because  the  presenta- 
tion of  the  actual  person  so  made  will  emphasize  but  a 
single  element  of  his  character,  it  will,  even  when  more 
suggestive  than  that  given  by  the  novel,  be  if  anything  even 
less  complete  and  broadly  adequate  as  a  true  presentation 
of  the  actual  man.  We  are  forced  to  concede,  therefore, 
that  in  fiction  the  creation  of  a  character  can  not  be  ac- 
complished through  the  copying  of  characters  actually 
known  in  individual  men  and  women. 

3.  This,  however,  is  fortunate,  not  only  for  the  author, 
but  for  the  world  that  depends — more  perhaps  than  it 
suspects — upon  the  interpretations  of  literature  for  an 
understanding  of  men  and  character.  For  although  every 
character  in  literature  is,  in  some  degree  at  least,  a  con- 
crete, individual  character  belonging  to  a  distinct,  individ- 
ual person ;  yet  in  that  character  every  element  and  trait 
is  an  element  and  trait  that  belongs  to  human  nature  and 
human  temperament,  and  is  to  be  found  somewhere  in 
the  characters  of  actual  men  and  women.  But  these  ele- 
ments will  not  be  found  always  in  the  same  groupings, 
or  in  the  same  degrees,  or  in  the  same  circumstances ;  and 
it  is  the  opportunity  and  task  of  fiction  to  know  these 
manifold  characteristics  of  men  and  man,  to  bring  them 
to  light,  and  to  exhibit  them  in  their  inherent  quality. 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING        217 

Further,  to  effect  new  combinations  of  them  in  imagined 
characters,  to  try  their  effect  upon  men  and  the  affairs  of 
men  in  different  degrees  and  different  combinations  and 
different  circumstances,  falls  also  to  the  fiction-writer. 
Whereas  copying  would  restrict  him  to  the  mere  setting 
forth  of  character  elements  in  only  that  degree,  those  com- 
binations and  circumstances,  in  which  he  might  have  a 
chance  to  observe  them  actually  existent  in  actual  persons, 
character  creation  on  the  other  hand  calls  upon  him  to  do 
a  far  more  pleasant  and  far  more  profitable  thing.  In 
character  creation,  he  is  to  handle  the  elements  and  traits 
of  character  with  the  freedom  of  an  experimenter  charged 
with  the  duty  of  finding  new  proportions,  new  combina- 
tions, new  conditions,  and  new  results,  by  means  of  his 
expert  knowledge  and  expert  skill.  He  works  as  the 
chemist  works  in  seeking  new  and  useful  compounds  and 
products,  or  as  the  botanist  works  in  seeking  to  produce 
new  varieties  and  determine  the  behavior  of  plants  in 
widely  variant  conditions,  or  as  the  practical  philanthropist 
works  who  seeks  to  bring  about  in  individual  men  a  new 
combination  and  proportion  of  qualities,  and  an  adjust- 
ment of  surroundings,  in  order  that  he  may  create  a  new 
character  in  the  individual  man. 

4.  Character  creation,  therefore,  consists  (1)  in  the 
selection  and  combination  in  due  proportion  of  certain 
traits,  elements,  or  qualities  of  human  character;  (2)  in 
making  these  consistent  with  basic  human  nature  and 
class  character;  (3)  in  making  them  also  significant  of 
some  particular  phase  or  phases  of  human  nature  (and 
perhaps  of  class  character);  and  (4)  in  addition  to  this, 
in  embodying  them  in  concrete  acts,  mannerisms,  speech, 
and  conduct  that  will  impress  the  reader  as  belonging  to  a 


218  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

distinct  and  individual  personality.  The  actual  process  of 
this  selection  and  combination  may  go  on  in  different  ways. 
One  may  (A)  begin  by  determining  the  particular  phase 
or  quality  of  human  nature  that  he  wishes  to  interpret. 
He  then  seeks  acts,  conduct,  situations,  and  speech,  to- 
gether with  appropriate  setting  and  other  environment, 
such  as  best  agree  with  and  express  this  phase  and 
quality.  Or  he  may  (B)  begin  with  certain  mannerisms, 
acts,  or  behavior,  and  from  these  determine  the  aspect  of 
human  nature,  and  conceive  the  character,  that  his  story 
must  present;  his  principal  task  thereafter  being,  to  pro- 
vide a  sufficient  body  of  such  acts,  conduct,  and  speech  ade- 
quately to  display  this  aspect.  Or  again,  he  may  (C) 
begin  with  the  conception  of  a  particular  setting,  environ- 
ment, atmosphere,  or  situation,  deciding  from  this  upon 
that  aspect  of  human  nature  and  those  qualities  of  per- 
sonality which  he  must  present,  and  upon  the  concrete 
acts,  conduct,  and  speech  necessary  to  this  presentation.15 
There  may  be  other  ways  'of  determining  character,  and 
the  means  of  expressing  it ;  but  the  three  here  mentioned 
are  the  commonest. 

5.  The  conception,  therefore,  of  the  character  to  ~be 
portrayed,  may  often  determine  the  choice  of  persons  to 
appear  in  and  carry  on  the  action.  For  we  need  know 
the  world  but  moderately  well  to  know  that  types  of 
character  frequently  associate  themselves  with  types  of  in- 
dividual. Brutality  is  characteristic  of  ignorance;  gross 
luxury  and  barbaric  display  are  associated  with  the  self- 
sculptured  person  who  is  an  artist  only  in  the  rough  and 

15  Setting  and  environment,  but  especially  setting,  are  more  likely 
to  influence  the  selection  of  class  than  they  are  to  enter  into  the 
determination  of  character  in  other  respects, 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION- WRITING        219 

has  devoted  more  attention  to  the  multiplication  of  riches 
than  to  the  polishing  off  of  his  self-hewn  character ;  bigotry 
accompanies  membership  in  any  class  educated  through 
dogmatic  precept  and  not  through  development  of  the 
reason — which  fact  accounts  for  the  frequency  with  which 
literature  has  coupled  intolerance  with  certain  scholastic, 
legal,  and  clerical  types  of  person.  On  the  other  hand, 
there  are  qualities  of  human  nature  and  temperament  that 
cannot  be  associated  with  any  particular  type  of  person, 
but  are  widely  distributed  among  all  types,  and  perhaps 
are  universal.  Pity  is  found  in  the  rich  and  the  poor,  the 
coarse  and  the  refined;  hatred  and  affection  characterize 
every  class;  honor  and  treachery  may  be  found  in  the 
soldier,  the  priest,  the  merchant,  the  prostitute ;  there  are 
stupid  professors  and  lightning-witted  ditchers.  The  more 
deeply  the  quality  is  rooted  in  basic  nature,  the  more 
universal  it  will  be.  We  conclude,  therefore,  that  although 
our  choice  of  actors  in  the  story  may  sometimes  be  guided 
or  even  determined  by  the  character  type  to  be  portrayed, 
yet  nevertheless  the  more  the  character  quality  belongs 
to  fundamental  nature  and  the  less  it  is  adventitious — the 
result  of  special  modifying  and  conditioning  circumstances 
— the  less  surely  will  it  associate  itself  exclusively  with 
any  particular  type  of  person.  The  basic  traits  of  man  are 
to  be  found  in  every  .type  and  every  individual. 

6.  We  have  already  emphasized  the  necessity  of  the 
fiction-writer's  dealing  with  materials  that  are  within  his 
experience,  avoiding  scene,  situation,  person,  character, 
and  action,  with  which  he  is  not  familiar.  But  this  neces- 
sity should  be  urged  again  here.  Nowhere  is  ignorance — • 
lack  of  intimate  information — more  fatal  than  in  the  at- 
tempt to  present  persons  in  character,  and  nowhere  is 


220  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

such  ignorance  so  impossible  of  concealment.  Without 
knowing  man  and  men,  the  writer  can  never  create  persons 
who  will  move  and  live.  Yet  the  frequency  with  which 
we  find  inadequate  equipment  in  this  indispensable  quali- 
fication for  dramatic  narrative,  is  surprising.  It  is  sur- 
prising because  a  writer  needs  not  to  know  all  the  world 
and  its  "  cities  of-  men  " — needs  not  to  have  traveled 
widely,  to  have  lived  a  life  of  thrill,  change,  adventure,  or 
far-extending  activity  himself.  He  will  without  this  have 
sufficient  opportunity  for  studying  and  learning  men.  We 
are  forced  to  conclude,  therefore,  that  many  of  the  wish-I- 
were  writers  have  not  exercised  their  powers  of  observa- 
tion and  sympathetic  understanding,  or  indeed  lack  such 
powers ;  so  wof ully  do  they  fail  in  comprehension  and  rep- 
resentation of  human  trait  and  mannerism. 

7.  One  of  the  most  common  manifestations  of  this  hope- 
less lack  of  equipment  is  found  in  those  stories  that  go  far 
away  from  home — far  outside  the  writer's  range  of  experi- 
ence— for  person,  plot,  or  incident.  The  ambitious  college 
girl,  whose  broad  experience  perhaps  includes  life  in  her 
home  town  in  Maine,  Iowa,  or  Colorado,  and  in  the  little 
"  city  "  where  the  state  university  or  woman's  college  is, 
with  (perhaps)  a  flying  visit  to  Boston  or  Chicago  and  one 
supreme  occasion  when  she  was  guest  at  a  "  junior  prom  " 
in  some  man's  college — this  little  lady  must  attempt  a 
story  of  the  Kiviera,  of  St.  Petersburg  (Kussia,  not 
Florida!),  of  Hongkong  or  Mandalay;  must  undertake  to 
show  us  Siberian  exiles,  Japanese  naval  officers,  the  in- 
habitants of  some  (largely  imaginary)  Chinatown;  must 
try  to  build  a  plot  of  vast  financial  or  political  intrigue, 
of  domestic  infelicity  in  "  high  life,"  or  adventure  on  the 
"  high  "  seas.  All  of  which  is  pitifully  an  exhibition  of 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING 

poor  judgment.  For  though  it  is  true  that  the  basic  traits 
of  human  nature  are  the  same  always  and  everywhere,  it  is 
not  true  that  the  customs,  manners,  and  mannerisms,  the 
social  conventions,  the  setting — all  the  endless  range  of 
those  externals  through  which  characterization  must  be 
achieved — it  is  not  true  that  these  things  can  be  intuitively 
realized.  The  externals  must  be  known,  and  known 
familiarly,  if  they  are  to  be  reported  convincingly, 
and  even  a  genius  must  be  intimately  acquainted  with  that 
multiplicity  of  accompanying  detail  through  which  alone 
the  characteristic  individuality  of  character,  of  setting,  and 
of  incident,  can  be  established. 

8.  Perhaps  the  college  girl  who  has  lived  her  twenty 
years  with  open  eyes  and  interpreting  heart  can — if  blessed 
of  the  gods — write  a  passable  story  of  the  things  that 
might  happen  in  her  home  town,  or  in  the  college.  But  she 
knows  nothing  of  the  habitues  of  the  Kiviera,  of  Russian 
grand  dukes  and  princesses,  of  Siberian  exiles,  of  Japanese 
naval  officers,  of  the  "  four  hundred  " — nothing  except  that 
they  are  men  and  women.  And  lacking  knowledge  of 
them,  she  lacks  the  first  essential  to  adequate  reporting. 
It  is  inadequacy  of  information  that  gives  us  the  stock 
Englishman  who  is  an  Englishman  only  because  he  litters 
up  the  floor  with  H's  that  he  ought  to  be  more  careful  of, 
and  can't  keep  his  monocle  in  his  eye;  the  stock  cowboy 
who  is  a  cowboy  because  he  yells  whoopee !  swills  whisky, 
and  shoots  up  the  town  whenever  he  steps  outdoors;  the 
"  darky  "  who  is  a  darky  because  he  says  "  Gorrymighty, 
massa  "  at  every  opportunity ;  and  other  wooden-man  crea- 
tions that  have  no  individuality  and  about  the  same  amount 
of  human  nature.  The  writer  with  an  understanding  of 
the  nature  of  true  characterization,  will  shun  these  stock 


222  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

persons  as  he  would  the  plague;  and  the  writer  with  a  just 
sense  of  the  possible  and  impossible  in  characterization 
will  undertake  to  present  no  character  that  calls  for  such 
setting,  environment,  incident,  or  other  accompanying 
material  as  he  is  not  sufficiently  familiar  with  to  report 
with  convincing  accuracy  of  detail. 

9.  We  have  in  the  preceding  paragraphs  spoken  of 
character  and  of  the  person  possessing  the  character,  as  if 
they  were  identical.  And  this,  for  most  practical  pur- 
poses, they  are.  Hence  in  the  succeeding  paragraphs, 
wherein  we  now  consider  the  means  by  which  character 
traits  are  presented  to  the  reader,  we  shall  continue  to 
speak  of  the  character  and  the  person  as  one.  We  pass, 
then,  to  this  consideration.  Our  first  observation  is,  that 
physical  description  of  the  person  may  be  utilized  to  sug- 
gest character.  This  function,  indeed,  is  the  main  func- 
tion that  description  of  persons  can  lay  claim  to  in  fiction. 
There  is,  to  be  sure,  a  limited  interest  merely  in  knowing 
that  the  hero  is  tall  and  dark  and  has  curly  hair,  that 
the  heroine  is  petite  and  "  walks  with  a  grace  all  her 
own,"  and  even  that  the  old  farmer  is  lean  and  angular. 
But  such  information  is  too  often  of  the  unimportant-if- 
true  sort,  and  with  discriminating  readers  is  scarcely  of 
interest  at  all — certainly  not  when  it  represents  only  the 
callow  writer's  conception  of  her  own  appearance  or  the 
appearance  of  her  wished-for  sweetheart,  as  they  might  be 
if  things  were  different.  There  must  be  a  more  command- 
ing reason  for  describing  the  person;  and  this  justifying 
reason  is  found  in  some  relation  that  always  exists  between 
personal  appearance  and  essential  character.  This  relation 
may  be  that  of  resemblance,  or  that  of  contrast ;  the  out- 
ward aspect  may  be  an  index  of  the  spirit  within,  or  it 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING         223 

may  be  one  of  those  always  startling  physical  incongruities 
reminding  us  that  noble  spirits  may  house  in  ignoble 
bodies,  and  fair  bodies  incase  foul  souls. 

10.  Of  the  two  relations,  that  based  upon  incongruity 
of  the  outer  and  the  inner  man  is  the  less  common  and  on 
the  whole  the  less  frequently  available.    Indeed,  it  is  usable 
at  all  only  because  the  other  relationship,   that  of  cor- 
respondence between  the  inner  and  the  outer,  is  the  rule. 
The  fact  that,  even  aside  from  conventional  conceptions, 
the  outer  man  so  often  bewrays  the  inner,  gives  an  added 
effectiveness  to  characterizations  in  which  the  exception  is 
presented.      Incongruity    thus    becomes    the    method    of 
delineations  where  sharply  engraved  outlines  are  desired — 
the  effect  of  keen  contrasts,  with  the  resulting  effect  of 
pathos  and  tragedy  or  of  humor,  satire,  or  burlesque.    The 
fat  man  full  of  sentimental  love,  the  deformed  woman 
full  of  deep  and  passionate  affection  for  the  man  who  loves 
the  physically  perfect  in  woman — figures  like  these,  pre- 
sented adequately,  must  always  move  us  deeply.    But  from 
the  nature  of  the  method,  we  find  it  best  reserved  for 
stories  in  which  the  effect  of  strong  contrast  is  especially 
sought. 

11.  But  similarity  between  the  inner  and  the  outer  is 
common  enough  in  actual  life,  and  has  established  itself  so 
thoroughly  in  the  technical  conventions  of  art  as  to  become 
the  rule.     When,  therefore,  contrast  is  not  sought,  the 
depicting  of  the  outer  man   as   corresponding  with  the 
inner  is  the  natural  method.     The  shrewd  man  has  sharp 
features  and  small,  sharp  eyes;  the  prying  person  has  a 
thin,  pointed  nose;  the  good-humored  person  has  many 
little  wrinkles  at  the  corners  of  mouth  and  eyes;  the  big 
and  leering  mouth  is  the  sign  of  foolishness ;  shifting  eyes 


224  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

betray  the  shifty  spirit ;  fingers  that  are  never  quiet  speak 
of  nerves  that  are  never  at  rest;  a  swinging  gait  means 
independence — perhaps  the  independence  of  resolution  and 
courage,  perhaps  the  independence  of  carelessness  and  irre- 
sponsibility. There  is  truth  in  the  popular  song,  "  Every 
little  movement  has  a  meaning  of  its  own."  So  has  every 
line  and  attitude.  He  is  indeed  fortunate  who  has  ob- 
served men  and  women  to  such  purpose  that  their  char- 
acter is  revealed  to  him  by  trivial,  yet  all-significant, 
externals — to  whom  the  significant  external  signs  present 
themselves  surely  and  naturally  when  he  conceives  a  trait 
and  portrays  a  character.  For  these  things  are  not  matters 
of  downright  invention,  cannot  be  thought  up  or  manu- 
factured. They  lie  in.  the  natural  relations  existing  be- 
tween man's  body  and  his  character.  The  outer  bodies 
forth  the  inner. 

12.  Description  of  the  person  of  an  actor,  therefore — 
of  his  appearance,  his  mannerisms  of  physical  expression 
and  act ;  of  the  outward  man  that  so  suggestively  cor- 
responds to  the  man  within — can  frequently  be  used  ef- 
fectively toward  characterizing  the  individual.  Such 
description  may  be  massed  (but  not  without  the  disadvan- 
tages that  attend  massed  description),  or  it  may  be  dis- 
tributed ;  it  may  be  given  by  the  author  directly,  or  be 
placed  by  him  on  the  lips  of  some  person  in  the  story — 
even  those  of  the  person  himself  who  is  being  character- 
ized; it  may  include  only  details,  or  it  may  include  also 
a  summarizing  description  that  gathers  up  the  details  in 
a  general  estimate.  Illustrations  of  direct  description  can 
be  found  everywhere;  the  books  on  rhetoric,  narration, 
description,  and  fiction-writing  abound  with  them,  A 
single  example  must  serve  here : 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING        225 

Tall,  he  was,  and  queerly  suggestive  of  a  spinning- 
top  turned  upside  down  and  fitted  with  legs ;  for  his  head 
was  small  and  pointed,  and  hinted,  moreover,  of  being  as 
hard  as  the  iron  peg  of  the  top ;  and  the  loose  and  modish 
topcoat  in  which  he  had  encased  himself,  hung  on  narrow 
shoulders,  but  below  flared  out  with  the  brazen  independ- 
ence of  fad-bold  styles.  Had  Eanger  been  less  colossal  in 
height  and  diameter,  he  would  have  resembled  an  overgrown 
gnome,  tubby  and  rotund  in  the  middle,  making  his  uncer- 
tain way  on  teetering  legs.  Yet  there  was  physical  strength 
in  the  man  notwithstanding  his  ill  proportions.  The  long 
arms  looked  as  if  they  had  been  practiced  in  reaching  out 
and  seizing,  or  in  giving  tremendous  blows.  The  bulbous 
body  looked  as  if  it  were  able  to  remain  inert  against  great 
pressure,  giving  stability  to  the  uncertain  legs,  and  the 
head  looked  as  if  by  sheer  repeated  pecking  it  might  pierce 
a  way  through  stone-wall  obstacles.  Only  when  you  looked 
into  the  eye — which  was  hard  to  catch — did  you  see  that 
the  dwindling  legs  and  the  pindling  cranium  might  be 
truer  indexes  of  the  man's  character  than  were  his  fusi- 
form globularity,  his  mass,  his  height,  his  prehensible  arms 
and  hammer  fists,  and  his  head  with  its  shape  of  the  steel- 
nosed  bullet. 

13.  Another  direct  means  of  characterizing  is  that  of 
frank  analysis.  Analysis,  however,  is  closely  akin  to  ex- 
pository writing;  and  to  say  this  is  enough  to  warn  the 
tempted  writer  that  forbearance  is  better  than  indulgence 
when  he  entertains  any  doubt  about  the  advisability  of 
employing  this  method.  Further,  since  exposition  grows 
disproportionately  obvious  as  it  grows  longer,  passages 
of  analysis  must  needs  be  short — particularly  so  in  the 


226  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

conte.  It  is  better  to  break  the  passage  up  into  smaller 
portions  of  analysis  or  explanation,  and  distribute  these 
at  opportune  places  in  the  story,  than  to  permit  the  analysis 
to  grow  unwieldy  in  a  single  longer  passage.  What  is 
here  said,  however,  does  not  imply  that  one  shall  fail  to 
give  a  key  to  the  character  early  in  the  presentation,  even 
though  many  of  the  doors  to  full  appreciation  of  it  be  left 
for  later  unlocking.  Neither  does  it  imply  that  occasions 
will  not  arise  where  outright  analysis  will  not  be,  all 
things  considered,  the  best  method — as  when  a  person  must 
be  shown  in  action  without  sufficient  precedent  opportunity 
to  develop  by  other  means  that  trait  of  character  which 
must  be  understood  in  order  to  understand  the  motive  with 
which  he  is  now  to  act,  or  when  subordinate  persons  must 
be  characterized  whose  importance  is  too  slight  to  justify 
the  more  dramatic  methods  of  presenting  their  character. 
We  scarcely  need  add  that,  when  either  description  or 
analysis  seems  to  be  required  in  mass,  the  best  places  for 
it  are  the  points  of  lowered  interest  in  the  narrative — the 
troughs  between  the  wave-crests  of  action.  To  break  into 
the  action-movement,  stopping  it  in  order  to  describe  or 
analyze,  is  crude  and  often  fatal  malpractice.  A  brief 
passage  of  analysis  is  here  given,  to  illustrate  concretely 
this  method  of  direct  characterization: 

His  was  a  soul  that  thrived  upon  black  tempers  fol- 
lowed by  hysterical  melancholy.  Between  these  black 
storm  periods,  with  their  sequence  of  penitential  rains,  he 
was  blithe,  indifferent,  chirpy,  moody,  active,  quiescent,  as 
chance  decreed.  But  these  intervening  moods  were  merely 
the  fortuitous  variations  of  his  spiritual  year,  and  had  no 
fixed  relations  with  his  full  seasons ;  sullen  rage  and  equi- 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING        227 

noctial  remorse  were  his  spring,  summer,  autumn,  and 
winter  of  emotion,  and  swayed  all  lesser  periods,  as  spring, 
summer,  autumn,  and  winter  dominate  all  the  minor  epochs 
of  the  solar  year. 

14.  Yet  neither  description  nor  analysis  is  the  writer's 
best  dependence.  On  act  and  deed  only — on  the  action  of 
the  individual — can  be  founded  dramatic  characterization. 
Description  and  analysis  are  but  accessories  and  aids  to 
this  higher  method.  We  best  perceive  that  a  man  is  quick- 
tempered when  we  see  him  "  fly  off  the  handle  "  and  do 
something  in  hasty  anger.  We  need  no  explanation  to 
make  us  know  that  a  woman  is  treacherous  if  we  see  her 
wantonly  betraying  a  friend.  The  clerk  seen  appropriat- 
ing a  package  from  the  shelves  is  classified  by  his  act ;  the 
boy  who  takes  a  thrashing  to  save  a  weaker  lad  from  too 
severe  punishment,  wears  a  Carnegie  medal  to  our  eyes 
without  its  being  pinned  on  him  by  an  analysis  of  his 
courage  and  sympathy.  The  man  whom  we  find  sitting  in 
his  club,  telling  unclean  stories — we  know  the  fullness  of 
his  heart  from  the  speech  of  his  mouth,  as  we  do  that  of 
his  brother  the  other  loafer  who  tells  the  same  stories  in 
the  country  store.  The  patient  response  of  a  husband  to 
the  nagging  of  his  wife,  characterizes  him  as  much  as  her 
nagging  speeches  characterize  her.  All  this  but  says  that 
act  and  speech  dramatically  reveal  character  as  nothing 
else  can  do.  Therefore,  the  writer  has  endless  opportunity 
to  achieve  varied  dramatic  characterization;  for  as  the 
variations  of  character  and  temper,  and  the  number  of 
convincing  combinations  of  them,  is  infinite,  so  the  number 
and  kinds  of  act  and  speech  through  which  character  can  be 
portrayed,  are  infinite.  The  act  and  the  manner  of  the  act, 


228  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

whether  one  drive  a  dagger  to  his  enemy's  heart  or  flick  a 
fly  from  his  own  bald  head,  are  the  best  revelation  of  char- 
acter— and  I  do  not  know  that  any  degree-pursuing  research 
enthusiast  has  yet  had  the  brilliantly  barren  impulse  to 
look  up  just  how  many  ways  there  are  of  doing  either. 

15.  We  cannot  close  this  section  without  speaking  of 
one  other  means  of  indicating,  more  or  less  directly,  the 
character  of  the  actor — psychological  narration.  Psycho- 
logical narration  is  found  most  extensively  in  the  so-called 
psychological  story,  but  it  is  likely  to  be  useful  anywhere, 
the  danger  of  employing  it  lying  in  the  ease  with  which  in- 
ternal action  can  displace  external  action  in  the  narrative. 
Psychological  narration  sometimes  is  hard  to  discriminate 
from  psychological  analysis,  but  it  is,  in  its  clearest  forms, 
distinctly  separate.  It  consists  in  narrating,  or  recounting, 
mental  and  spiritual  operations,  and  its  justification  lies 
in  the  fact  that  no  external  act  can  intelligibly  express 
some  of  the  significant  operations  of  intellect,  impulse, 
mood,  and  spirit  through  which  acts  and  conduct  are  de- 
termined. Unless,  therefore,  the  psychological  events  be 
narrated  that  constitute  these  operations,  they  cannot  be 
presented  in  any  dramatic  or  even  pseudo-dramatic  way. 
To  narrate  thus  the  incidents  that  make  up  the  stream  of 
consciousness,  is  to  reveal  motive  by  revealing  the  hidden 
springs  whose  release  sets  going  outward  events.  Hence  it 
reveals  character,  at  least  indirectly,  since  motive  results 
from  character.  The  beginning  writer,  however,  should 
use  no  more  psychological  narration  than  he  finds  himself 
compelled  to  use,  and  should  admit  it  only  in  short  and 
well-distributed  passages.16 

16  Naturally,  the  longer  the  story,  the  longer  the  passages  of 
description,  analysis,  psychological  narration,  and  the  like,  that  can 
be  introduced. 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING        229 

XXVI.  DIALOGUE  LIGHTENS  THE  NARRATIVE,  CON- 
TRIBUTES TO  EXPOSITION  AND  INTENSIFICATION, 
FURTHERS  ACTION,  AND  CHARACTERIZES 

1.  In  contemporary  short  fiction,  dialogue  is  prominent ; 
sometimes  it  displaces  all  the  other  means  of  presentation, 
and  the  story  becomes  still  more  nearly  a  play — conver- 
sation constituting  all  the  story  and  suggesting  even  the 
"  business  "  of  the  actors.     The  increasing  prominence  of 
dialogue  has  been  an  accompaniment  of  the  general  im- 
provement of  narrative  method;   for  dialogue  has  been 
found  not  only  to  have  a  function  particularly  its  own  in 
fictional  narrative,  but  also  an  ancillary  function,  relieving 
the  heaviness  and  monotony  sometimes  attending  narration 
even  when  concerned  immediately  with  action.     Experi- 
ence   has    demonstrated    the    usefulness    of  dialogue    in 
lightening  the  narrative,  contributing  expository  or  inten- 
sifying detail,  advancing  the  action,  and  indicating  the 
character  of  the  persons. 

2.  The  usefulness   of  conversation  in  lightening  the 
narrative  is  evident.     A  steady  flow  of  purely  historical 
assertion   must   sooner   or  later   grow   monotonous,    and 
readers  of  fiction  find  this  especially  true.    Probably  there 
is,   consciously  or   unconsciously,   the   reasoning  that  in 
life  itself  men  speak  freely  about  themselves  and  their 
affairs,  and  that  fiction  ought  to  represent  them  as  they  are 
in  life — the  more  so  as  the  ebb  and  flow  of  converse  in 
actual  life  goes  so  far  toward  making  it  interesting  and 
explaining  the  motives  and  character  of  men  to  one  an- 
other.    The  occurrence,  therefore,  of  passages  of  dialogue 
in  a  fiction  narrative  makes  the  presentation  seem  more 


230  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

dramatic  (in  both  senses  of  the  word),  breaks  up  long 
historical  statement  into  livelier  and  briefer  form,  makes 
reading  easier  to  the  eye,  makes  the  humanity  of  the 
fictional  persons  more  apparent,  enables  the  reader  to 
get  illuminating  glimpses  of  character  without  the  need 
of  wallowing  through  explanatory  mud  puddles,  and — in 
a  word — brings  the  story  closer  in  form,  method,  and 
matter  to  the  realities  of  life. 

3.  Yet  numerous  good  stories  are  told  without  the  em- 
ployment of  dialogue;  for  to  some  narratives  it  is  not 
essential,   and  some  successful  authors  have  no  gift  in 
dialogue.     We  are  to  remember  that  there  is  no  hard-and- 
fast  rule  of  fiction-writing — that  the  author's  conception 
and  the  material  which  it  calls  on  him  to  present  may  at 
any  time  produce  a  new  set  of  conditions,  to  meet  which 
he  may  have  to  do  even  the  exact  opposite  of  the  rule, 
and  that  his  success  will  be  determined  by  the  significance 
of  the  conception  and  the  skill  with  which  he  meets  the 
conditions  created   by  it.     Good   stories  are  written  in 
which  dialogue  is  not  required  at  all,  or  in  which  it  is 
avoided.    But  this  does  not  lessen  the  importance  of  the 
counsel :  when  the  speech  of  persons  needs  to  be  reported  at 
all,  it  is  usually  best  reported  in  direct  dialogue  form, 
not  as  indirect  discourse;  and  for  the  sake  of  variety, 
vigor,  and  naturalness  in  the  narrative,  effort  should  be 
made  to  include  dialogue  whenever  its  presence  will  not 
interfere  with  more  important  ends.    This  can  be  summed 
up  in  the  advice  to  use  dialogue  freely  when  the  require- 
ments of  the  story  will  permit  it. 

4.  The  utility  of  conversation  as  a  means  of  indicating 
the  premises  on  which  the  plot  depends — that  is,  of  present- 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING        231 

ing  exposition  17 — is  very  great  in  the  hands  of  a  competent 
story-teller  and  dramatist.  In  the  hands  of  the  unskilled, 
it  is  a  doubtful  means.  Exposition  given  through  dialogue, 
is  almost  of  necessity  distributed,  not  massed ;  very  seldom 
does  a  long  passage  of  expository  dialogue  succeed.18  At 
its  best,  it  is  usually  not  better  than  massed  direct  exposi- 
tion would  be,  and  as  conversation  it  wants  naturalness, 
spontaneity,  and  lightness — is  not  true  to  the  nature  of 
ordinary  conversation,  which  seldom  goes  back  of  the 
present  moment  or  attempts  a  massed  resume  such  as  the 
massed  exposition  must  be.  But  if  care  be  exercised  to 
keep  the  speeches  from  growing  too  long,  to  keep  the 
conversation  from  monotonously  over-dwelling  on  the  ex- 
pository facts,  and  in  such  way  to  couple  the  statement  of 
the  expository  facts  with  the  situation  and  incidents  of  the 
moment  that  the  reader  feels  a  situation  to  be  developing 
in  the  present  and  at  the  same  time  revealing  to  him  the 
past  out  of  which  it  springs — then  dialogue  becomes  a 
thoroughly  satisfactory  vehicle  of  exposition. 

5.  Exposition  of  the  results  of  the  outcome — conse- 
quential exposition — can  likewise  be  given,  either  directly 
or  by  suggestion,  through  dialogue.  When  Hotspur,  al- 

17  Presentation  of  setting  and  environment,  and  indeed  many 
of  the  effects  of  atmosphere,  can  be  worked  through  dialogue.  Setting 
and  environment  may  at  this  point  be  regarded  (for  practical 
purposes)  as  included  in  exposition.  The  employment  of  dialogue  for 
the  creation  of  atmosphere  scarcely  permits  of  separate  treatment. 
The  effect  of  atmosphere  will  result  from  the  subjective  coloring 
found  no  less  in  the  substance  and  manner  of  dialogue  than  in  the 
other  elements  of  the  story. 

11  For  a  long  speech  of  exposition  that  does  succeed,  see  the 
opening  of  CoppeVs  The  Substitute.  But  note  that  the  manner  of 
the  speech  is  not  notably  successful ;  the  expression  is  over-sophisti- 
cated and  over-mature  for  a  mere  boy. 


232  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

luding  to  something  else  just  said  about  the  hazard  of 
certain  action  that  is  as  full  of  risk  as  crossing  a  torrent 
"  on  the  uncertain  footing  of  a  spear/'  bursts  forth  with 
the  vivid  comment,  "  If  he  fall  off,  good  night !  "  his 
speech  amounts  to  consequential  exposition;  the  failure 
of  this  undertaking  will  mean  ruin.  Consequential  exposi- 
tion, however,  is  less  likely  to  appear,  for  the  simple  reason 
that  most  plots  reveal  sufficiently,  without  explanation, 
what  the  after-results  of  their  outcome  will  be — although 
in  comedy  the  fun  may  sometimes  be  intensified  by  allusion 
to  these  results.  Indeed,  either  comedy  effect  or  tragic  sus- 
pense can  be  heightened  by  such  allusions,  provided  that 
they  are  introduced  in  such  manner  as  not  to  anticipate 
the  outcome  itself.  As  comprehension  of  the  consequential 
results  is  necessary  to  appreciation  of  the  complication  and 
crisis,  and  as  in  the  management  of  the  story  they  associate 
themselves  naturally  with  the  complication  rather  than 
with  the  outcome  that  would  produce  them,  the  skillful 
writer  can  accomplish  this  revelation  successfully  without 
letting  the  reader  know  prematurely  how  the  struggle  is  to 
turn.  And  dialogue  is  one  means  to  this  end. 

6.  Again,  dialogue  is  useful  as  a  means  of  intensifying 
mood-impression  or  emphasizing  important  facts.  In  so 
using  it,  however,  caution  is  necessary.  Conversation 
cannot  be  utilized  merely  by  flinging  it  into  the  narrative ; 
it  must  be  rooted  deep  in  the  incident,  must  take  place 
because  at  the  moment  nothing  but  the  breaking  into 
speech  will  so  adequately  agree  with  the  situation.  It 
never  does  to  say,  "  I  will  now  use  some  dialogue  to  lighten 
things  up  and  throw  emphasis  on  these  few  facts."  If 
the  dialogue  does  not  spring  naturally  from  the  situation, 
it  is  not  to  be  admitted ;  and  if  it  grows  long  without  in 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING        233 

some  way  aiding  the  progress  of  the  story,  it  must  be 
excluded,  even  though  its  concentrative  effect  is  good.  If 
this  seem  too  strong  an  assertion,  let  us  say  that  concentra- 
tive, or  amplifying,  dialogue  must  never  be  permitted  to 
interfere  with  advance  in  the  movement  of  the  story. 

7.  And  the  sentence  with  which  we  have  just  closed  the 
preceding  paragraph  recalls  what  must  always  be,  from 
the  viewpoint  of  dramatic  construction,  the  main  object  of 
the  story :  advance.    The  story  must  always  march  forward, 
with  only  those  halts  and  campings  that  are  necessary  for 
recuperation  and  survey  of  route  before  another  advance. 
In  the  furthering  of  the  action  which  is  thus  described, 
dialogue  may  have  an  important  part.    Study  of  stories  in 
which  conversation  is  prominent  will  quickly  make  evident 
what  is  meant  by  advancing  the  story  through  dialogue. 
At  the  close  of  the  dialogue  passage,  a  motive  has  been 
settled,  a  complication  revealed  or  resolved,  a  determination 
reached,  or  some  other  condition  established,  without  which 
the  incidents  could  not  proceed  at  all,  or  could  not  proceed 
so  directly,  toward  the  decisive  moment,  the  climactic 
height,  or  the  outcome. 

8.  As  intimated  already,  there  are  situations  of  which 
only  dialogue  is  the  natural  expression  and  resolution; 
the  action  has  come  to  a  point  where  the  persons  must 
speak — must    express   themselves,   their   character,    their 
mood,    their    motives,    their    determinations,    by    words. 
Speech  is  one  form  of  action — a  form  in  which  motive, 
character,  will,  cause  and  effect,  the  final  and  decisive 
play  of  the  motivating  forces,  are  often  seen  in  rapid  and 
conclusive  working.     Thus   in   MarJcheim,   most   of   the 
action  is  in  the  dialogue  (psychological  narration)  ;   "  An- 
thony Hope "  made  the  Dolly  Dialogues  mainly  out  of 


234  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

dialogue — so  much  so  that  they  seem  almost  stage-drama 
instead  of  narrative  drama.  Examples  of  dialogue  (single 
speeches  or  interchange  of  speech)  that  constitutes  or 
furthers  action  can  be  found  in  many  stories ;  the  student 
has  only  to  look  over  the  short  fiction  in  the  current 
magazines,  but  specific  citations  of  standard  stories  are: 
Barriers  The  Courting  of  TNow-head's  Bell,  Merimee's 
Mateo  Falcone;  Stevenson's  A  Lodging  for  the  Night; 
Daudet's  The  Pope's  Mule;  and  Kipling's  Without  Benefit 
of  Clergy.  (Kipling  and  0.  Henry  are  among  the  authors 
who  employ  dialogue  easily  and  much.) 

9.  All  the  functions  or  employments  of  dialogue  yet 
mentioned,  however,  are  at  least  partly  contributory;  the 
dialogue  is  used  as  a  device  or  means  to  some  end  not 
directly  dependent  on  it,  is  accessory,  ancillary,  subordi- 
nate.    It  is,  for  example,  useful  in  advancing  the  action, 
but  is  thus  useful  merely  as  a  narrative  and  dramatic 
device,  not  primarily  for  its  own  sake.    Has  dialogue  then 
no  function  that   is   distinctly   and   primarily   its   own? 
Must  it  always  be  employed  as  a  servant  of  servants,  never 
rising  itself  to  the  rank  of  a  principal  officer  in  the  house- 
hold ?    And  if  it  indeed  has  some  function  that  is  eminently 
its  own,  what  is  that  function  ?    It  has  such  a  special  func- 
tion, the  function  is  exceedingly  important,  and  dialogue 
often  performs  it  as  it  could  be  performed  by  no  other 
narrative  or  dramatic  agent.     The  function  is,  character- 
ization. 

10.  Character  can  be  laid  before  the  reader  in  three 
ways ;  by  outright  explanation,  by  acts  and  deeds,  and  by 
speech — a  form  of  action,  but  important  enough  to  be 
considered  by  itself.     Only  those  manifestations  of  charac- 
ter which  are  made  through  act  or  speech  are  truly  dm- 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING         235 

matic.  Therefore,  dialogue  is  one  of  (he  two  sole  methods 
by  which  inner  character  and  motive  can  be  made  concrete 
and  outwardly  manifest.  And  as  even  the  lightest  and 
most  inconsequential  fiction,  if  it  rises  to  worth  in  its  own 
class,  is  based  upon  character  as  a  premise — whether  the 
story  emphasize  character  or  not — dialogue  becomes  one  of 
the  most  important  dependencies  of  the  fiction  writer.  As 
such  we  will  now  consider  it. 

11.  "  Out  of  the  fullness  of  the  heart  the  mouth  speak- 
eth."  That  is  the  foundation  principle  of  dialogue  as  a 
means  of  characterization.  And  it  holds  universally.  For 
even  if  the  words  uttered  are  false,  the  course  of  events 
in  the  story  (which  herein  surely  rises  superior  to  actual 
life)  will  make  their  falseness  manifest,  and  thus  show 
the  fullness  of  heart  out  of  which  they  are  spoken  to  be 
falsehood.  Speech,  therefore,  associated  with  act  and  deed, 
should  in  fiction  infallibly  reveal  character.  And  from 
this  fact  we  draw  two  immediately  applicable  rules  of 
practice  for  the  writing  of  dialogue:  A.  Conceive  with 
clearness  the  character  that  is  to  be  presented,  its  essential 
traits  and  qualities.  B.  Build  the  dialogue  directly  upon 
this  conception,  putting  such  speech  (and  on  the  whole  19 

19  The  restriction  is  far  more  important  in  short  than  in  long 
fiction.  In  short  fiction,  only  the  "high  lights"  can  be  presented; 
the  selective  process  has  to  be  carried  much  further,  and  exclusion 
made  much  more  strict,  than  in  long  narratives.  The  novel  has 
time  for  bringing  out  what  the  photographer  knows  as  detail.  The 
metaphor  is  helpful.  The  conte  is  a  snapshot;  it  can  catch  only 
the  strongest  outlines  of  the  picture.  But  the  novel  is  a  time 
exposure,  and  can  be  so  regulated  as  to  get  the  detail  that  lies  in 
shadow.  Again,  speed  and  a  large  lens  aperture  go  with  the 
snapshot,  and  this  means  lack  of  "depth";  but  the  time  exposure, 
using  a  small,  intensifying,  perspectifying  aperture,  dwells  more 
seemingly  and  lingeringly  on  the  subject,  and  has  not  only  outline 


236  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

only  such  speech)  into  the  mouth  of  the  person  as  springs 
from  these  traits  and  qualities,  and  serves,  along  with  his 
acts,  to  reveal  them  clearly. 

12.  For  the  creation  of  dialogue  based  upon  character 
as  moral  quality,  explicit  directions   (of  course)   cannot 
be  given.     How  to  perceive  what  substance  and  manner 
of  speech  will  accord  with  any  particular  character  trait 
and  quality,  is  no  more  susceptible  of  being  taught  than  is 
the  process  by  which  the  author  shall  conceive  the  character 
itself.    These  are  things  that  must  depend  on  his  powers  of 
observation,  his  knowledge  of  men,  and  his  sense  of  inner 
correspondences.    The  teacher  can  do  no  more  than  impress 
on  the  student  the  vital  necessity  that  the  speech  of  the 
person  shall  be  consistent  with,  and  more  than  that,  shall 
be  highly  indicative  of,  the  character  with  which  that 
person  has  been  endowed.     When,  however,  we  regard 
dialogue  in  its  outward  aspects — in  its  linguistic  and  not 
its  moral  or  symbolical  guise — we  can  state  at  least  some 
general  principles  definitely  enough  to  be  laid  hold  on 
practically. 

13.  Among  these,   the  main  or  guiding  principle  is 

but  shade  and  tone,  background  and  depth,  with  many  gradations 
of  distinctness  in  the  half  and  quarter  lights  and  the  shades.  Yet 
again,  in  the  development,  the  best  that  can  be  expected  from  the 
snapshot  plate  is  such  suggestion  of  full  detail  as  prevents  the 
negative  from  being  merely  a  skeleton  outline  in  which  the  shadows 
and  their  content  show  only  as  thin  or  bare  spots.  But  in  developing 
the  time-exposed  plate,  such  manipulation  is  possible  as  will  coax  up 
the  shadows  and  bring  forth  a  rich  abundance  of  softening  and 
contributory  detail.  In  like  degree,  the  short  story  (conte)  may 
and  should  suggest  the  softening  half-lights  and  shadow,  with  their 
accessory  detail;  but  it  cannot  aim  to  develop  these  out  in  any 
degree  of  fullness.  It  has  its  own  artistic  aim,  which  is  different 
from  that  of  the  timed  picture;  and  it  must  confine  itself  to 
what  that  aim  involves. 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING        237 

that  of  individualized  language — language  made  to  fit 
the  individual  who  uses  it,  and  the  moment  and  situation 
when  it  is  used.  We  begin  with  this  in  its  most  general 
sense,  and  say  that  speech  must  be  fitted  to  represent  the 
type  of  character  and  person  with  which  it  is  associated. 
Frivolous  character  will  produce  frivolous  speech ;  religious 
character,  conversation  that  is  tinged  with  religion; 
rugged  character,  speech  that  is  itself  rugged.  In  like 
manner,  different  classes  of  person  use  different  manners 
of  speech.  The  lawyer  is  likely  to  have  a  speech  that  is 
involved  and  periodic,  from  the  study  of  forms  and  books 
and  from  pleading  before  judges,  or  a  more  colloquial  and 
plausible  (and  sometimes  overbearing)  manner,  from 
questioning  witnesses  and  addressing  juries.  There  is — at 
least  conventionally — a  speech  characteristic  of  the  farmer ; 
the  Hebrew  cloaks-and-suits  manufacturer  certainly  has 
his  own  style  of  expression,  if  Mr.  Montague  Glass's 
stories  of  Abe  and  Mawruss  are  to  be  taken  as  accurate. 
True,  many  of  the  "  types  "  familiar  to  us  are  conven- 
tional ;  true  also  that  many  influences  are  strongly  at  work 
to  break  down  the  differences  in  speech  between  class  and 
class;  and  true  yet  again  that  the  classifications  overlap, 
grow  confused,  and  become  both  arbitrary  and  indistinct. 
Even  so,  however,  we  find  numerous  quite  apparent  man- 
ners, or  if  you  wish,  dialects,  characteristic  of  distinct 
groups.  The  Yankee  villager,  the  Southern  Cracker,  the 
ranchman  of  the  West,  the  seaman — mention  of  these  is 
sufficient  to  convince  us  that  there  are  manners  of  speech 
broadly  belonging  to  one  class  or  group  of  persons  and  not 
to  any  other.  It  is  not  necessary  here  to  enumerate  these 
classes;  but  when  we  come  to  write,  it  emphatically  is 
necessary  that  we  realize  what  form  of  speech  is  appropriate 


238  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE 

to  the  type  of  person  whom  we  are  portraying,  and  place 
language  in  his  mouth  accordingly. 

14.  Yet  many  things  besides  merely  his  membership 
in  some  more  or  less  clearly  distinct  group  will  modify 
and  determine  the  speech  of  any  individual.    The  educated 
man  (to  illustrate)  may  be  lawyer,  clergyman,  merchant, 
scientist,   or  mechanic;   the  mechanic  may  be   Yankee, 
Southerner,    French-Canadian,     German- American ;    the 
German- American  may  be  grocer  or  editor ;  the  editor  may 
be  college  bred  or  the  product  of  life  in  a  country  town 
plus  a  scramble  upward  from  the  job  of  printers'  devil. 
A  thousand  influences  may  shape  language  as  spoken  by  the 
individual,  modifying  it  and  making  it  to  vary  from  the 
type-language  of  his  class ;  and  the  fictions-writer,  in  por- 
traying person  and  character,  must  thus  individualize  the 
speech  that  he  causes  his  persons  to  speak,  just  as  he 
must  individualize  those  persons  themselves.    Here  again 
his  safest — indeed,  his  only  safe — guide  must  be,  close 
observation  and  acquaintance  with  varied  types  and  in- 
dividuals.   Nevertheless,  we  can  catalogue  some  of  the  in- 
fluences   that    help   to   determine    the   language    of   the 
individual  person. 

15.  First,  a  man's  past  is  always  perceptible  in  his 
"  speech.    The  farm-boy  may  become  the  city  man,  rising  to 

eminence  as  journalist,  banker,  or  lawyer;  yet  a  few  at 
least  of  the  traces  of  an  unlettered  boyhood  will  always 
remain;  he  is  likely  to  mispronounce  a  few  words  that 
he  mislearned,  and  to  employ  now  and  then  some  turn  of 
phrase  more  notable  for  rusticity  than  for  grammatical 
correctness  or  rhetorical  purity ;  the  very  care  and  precision 
with  which  he  handles  his  later  language  is  reminiscent  of 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING         239 

days  when  he  spoke  with  less  finish  and  care;  and  in  a 
larger  sense,  his  language  will  be  colored  by  his  past 
through  the  fund  of  rural  figure  and  illustration  with 
which  his  early  life  has  supplied  him.  A  "  Bowery  Boy  " 
— albeit  "  there  ain't  no  sich  annymile  "  now — though 
risen  to  be  political  master  of  a  state,  will  yet  speak  much 
in  the  dialect  of  his  origins.  Even  as  early  as  the  age 
of  ten  or  twelve,  the  lad  who  has  been  acquainted  inti- 
mately with  books  will  have  a  finish  and  correctness  of 
speech  that  will  not  wholly  disappear,  even  should  later 
circumstances  turn  him  into  foreman  of  a  street-gang 
(though,  if  he  have  the  quality  of  survival,  he  is  likely 
then  to  acquire  for  practical  purposes  a  language  far  from 
bookish !) . 

16.  Offsetting  this,  a  mans  present  also  affects  Ms 
speech.  Thus,  his  occupation  surely  and  persistently  in- 
fluences his  language,  supplying  him  subjects  of  conversa- 
tion, determining  the  matter  and  direction  of  his  thought, 
insinuating  into  his  vocabulary  the  terms  and  cant  of  his 
business,  and  otherwise  making  him  speak  after  its  own 
manner.  Occupation,  however,  is  merely  one  aspect  of 
environment;  and  to  greater  or  less  extent,  environment 
inevitably  constrains  the  speaker's  speech.  If  he  be  in 
surroundings  that  are  natural  and  easy  to  him,  he  speaks 
in  the  main  the  language  peculiar  to  that  environment; 
if  it  be  unnatural  or  uneasy  to  him,  his  natural  form  of 
speech  will  feel  the  constraint  and  suffer  from  it ;  but 
always  he  speaks  the  speech  in  no  small  part  as  it  is 
taught  him  by  molding  circumstances.  Again,  the 
speaker's  mood,  be  it  temporary  or  more  deep-seated,  will 
color  and  shape  his  expression.  The  angry  bricklayer  does 


240  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

not  speak  as  does  the  bricklayer  in  good  humor ;  the  morose 
man,  embittered  against  his  work,  the  people  about  him, 
or  the  world  in  general,  will  reveal  his  bitterness  in  his 
words,  his  sentences,  his  conversations. 

17.  Manifestly,  then,  a  varied  assortment  of  influences 
enter  into  the  making  of  individual  speech,  and  all  these 
influences  must  be  recognized  by  the  writer  when  he  under- 
takes to  create  appreciation  of  character  and  trait  through 
dialogue.  We  say  "  when."  For  dialogue  is  not  always 
to  be  worked  to  the  hardest  with  a  view  to  characterization. 
It  must  always  be  consistent  with  the  character,  but  it 
may  in  certain  circumstances  be  over-emphasized  if  its 
characterizing  value  alone  be  thought  of.  A  less  definitely 
individualized  speech,  for  instance,  will  be  assigned  to 
minor  persons  in  the  story  than  is  worked  out  for  the 
leading  person.  Just  as  the  subordinate  persons  are  less 
minutely  specialized  in  character  (so  that  they  shall  not 
divide  character  interest  with  the  central  persons),  so 
their  manner  of  expression  may  be  less  minutely  individ- 
ualized ;  they  can  without  danger  speak  a  more  standard- 
ized language  than  can  the  leading  person.  So,  too,  when 
dialogue  is  not  required  to  serve  the  particular  purposes  of 
local  color,  its  dialectal  and  linguistic  peculiarities, 
especially  in  the  speech  of  minor  persons,  will  be  less 
emphasized.  Even  so,  however,  the  dialogue  must  still  be 
kept  true  to  the  character,  the  person,  the  situation,  the 
environment,  the  mood,  and  the  action;  and  to  keep  it 
true  to  person  and  character,  the  writer  must  definitely 
realize  all  the  influences  that  have  affected  the  character 
or  worked  upon  the  speech  of  the  persons  as  that  person 
has  been  conceived, 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING        241 

XXVII.  THE  MAIN  PRACTICAL  PROBLEMS  OF  DIALOGUE 
ARE,  TO  MAKE  SURE  OF  ESSENTIAL  TRUTHFULNESS 
AND  PRODUCE  VERISIMILITUDE 

1.  We  have  seen  that  dialogue  must  be  true  to  the 
person,  the  situation,  and  the  character.  This  means  that 
it  must  faithfully  represent  the  person,  not  merely  as  a 
member  of  a  class  group,  but  also  as  an  individual ;  must 
faithfully  represent  his  character  in  (a)  its  outward  traits 
and  (b)  its  inner  springs  and  motives ;  and  must  faithfully 
represent  also  the  mood  in  which  it  is  spoken,  and  the  mood 
and  spirit  of  the  situation  and  action  of  which  it  con- 
stitutes .a  part.  That  is,  dialogue  must  be  essentially  true. 
All  this  has  been  dwelt  upon  in  the  preceding  section.  We 
need  here,  then,  note  only  what  the  elements  of  dialogue 
are  in  which  this  essential  truthfulness  will  be  found.  In 
this,  the  universal  principles  of  expression  guide  us. 
Truthfulness  lies  in  the  substance  and  the  manner  of  the 
dialogue.  According  as  the  thoughts,  ideas,  and  feelings 
that  it  embodies  are  thoughts  and  feelings  of  the  sort  that 
would  be  thought  or  felt  by  the  individual  member  of  a 
certain  class,  possessing  the  character  with  which  the 
author's  conception  has  endowed  him,  and  finding  himself 
in  the  definite  situation  now  created  by  the  action — to  the 
same  degree  the  speech  will  be  essentially  true,  provided 
that  its  manner  be  likewise  such  as  accords  with  the  per- 
son, with  his  character,  and  with  the  situation  and  mood. 
Assuming  that  the  author  has  as  definite  a  conception  as 
he  should  have  of  his  type,  person,  character,  and  situation, 
he  needs  then,  to  secure  essential  truthfulness,  but  to 
follow  the  good  old  rule  for  judging  people  in  actual  life ; 
put  yourself  in  his  place.  What  would  be  thought  and 


242  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

felt  in  such  circumstances,  what  should  be  said,  and  what 
the  particular  person  would  say,  will  then  become  apparent. 

2.  But — at  least  in  its  substance — dialogue  may  be 
essentially  true,  yet  not  appear  to  be  so ;  it  may  lack  verisi- 
militude.   And  with  the  attempt  to  produce  verisimilitude, 
most  of  the  problems  usually  discussed  in  connection  with 
the  practical  management  of  dialogue  usually  associate 
themselves.     Assuming  essential  truthfulness  in  the  sub- 
stance of  the  dialogue,  let  us  now  consider  how  essential 
true-seeming  can  be  produced.     We  may  begin  by  saying 
that  verisimilitude  in  dialogue  is  the  effect  of  plausibility 
created  by  the  skillful  management  of  conversational  de- 
tails.    The  aim  of  this  plausibility  is,  to  make  the  reader 
feel  that  the  person  and  his  character  are  actual,   and 
that  the  person  is  speaking  as  naturally  he  would  speak  in 
the  same  circumstances  did  they  actually  surround  him. 

3.  This  aim  recognized,  dialogue  finds  itself  shut  off 
from  all  forms  of  expression  that  suggest  self-conscious- 
ness, except  in  the  instances  in  which  the  author  purposely 
shows  the  speaker  forth  as  self-conscious.     On  its  prohibi- 
tive side,  this  fact  will  be  seen  to  bar  the  employment  of 
long,  intricate,  periodic,  or  otherwise  bookish,  oratorical, 
or  affected  sentences  when  they  do  not  owe  their  quality 
to  the  intentional  representation  of  corresponding  charac- 
ter-traits in  the  speaker.     Normal  conversation  is  neither 
stilted  nor  pedantic,  is  not  a  constant  struggle  for  "  style  " ; 
it  is  downright  and  direct,  the  colloquial  expression  of 
thought,  simple  in  proportion  to  its  matter,  colored  and 
either  heightened  or  lowered  by  the  circumstances  of  the 
moment.    And  normal  conversation  must  be  the  standard 
for  the  choice  of  words  and  the  form  of  sentences  employed 
in  reporting  dialogue.    All  departures  from   this  norm 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING        243 

must  be  justified  by  the  individuality  of  the  character  and 
person  or  by  particular  circumstances  in  the  mood  or 
situation. 

4.  Yet  dialogue  cannot  be  merely  the  reporting  ver- 
batim of  speech  such  as  the  persons  would  employ  were 
they  conversing  in  actual  life.     Were  it  this,  it  would  in 
print  prove  prolix,  redundant,  grammatically  faulty,  and 
tedious.     Normal  conversation  cannot  be  carried  over  un- 
changed into  print  and  continue  to  appear  normal.    Read- 
ing of  biographies  in  which  the  conversations  of  great  men, 
reputed  to  be  interesting  talkers,  are  reported  with  that 
inaccuracy  that  comes  from  too  close  adherence  to  actuali- 
ties, should  be  sufficient  to  convince  one  of  this  fact — and 
"  realistic    dialogue "    in    fiction   should    be    more   than 
enough.     All  artistic  effect  is  the  result  of  discriminative 
selection  of  impressive  aspects  for  presentation;  and  in 
conversation  reported  for  artistic  purpose,  this  is  as  true 
as  it  is  elsewhere.     In  making  this  selection,  we  choose 
the  significant  portions  and  manner  of  representative  talk 
by   the  persons  at  particular  moments   when  situation, 
mood,  action,  or  character  gives  this  talk  especial  value. 

5.  We  may  assume  here  that  the  substance  of  the  con- 
versation reported  has  interest — that  it  associates  itself 
vitally  with  matters  that,  from  the  nature  of  the  story,  are 
significant.     But  it  must  do  not  this  only;  for  verisimili- 
tude, it  must  also  compress  its  substance  into  relatively 
limited  compass.     This  compression  is  the  result  largely 
of  the  pruning  away  of  verbal  excrescences,  of  immaterial 
facts,  of  redundancies,  and  all  the  mass  of  conversational 
underbrush,  watersprouts,  and  dead  wood,  usually  found 
in  actual  talk.    The  main  trunk  and  limbs  of  the  thought, 
and  no  more,  are  ordinarily  to  be  left.    Only  that  remains 


244  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

which  is  of  importance  in  suggesting  or  outrightly  saying 
what,  by  means  of  the  conversation,  we  desire  to  convey. 
Compression,  therefore,  in  our  sense  of  the  term,  results 
from  simplification  and  rejection;  it  is  the  process  of  con- 
centrating and  intensifying  speech  until  it  becomes  charged 
with  significance  and  interpretive  effect. 

6.  We  are,  however,  not  yet  done  with  the  term  "  repre- 
sentative speech."     Is  idealized  speech — the  natural  lan- 
guage thus  pruned,  shorn,  and  denatured — representative 
speech  ?     Do  we  not  falsify  by  thus  improving  ?     We  do 
not.      For  verisimilitude  in  dialogue  results  only  when 
some  degree  of  improving  manipulation  is  exercised  upon 
speech  in  its  natural  form;  the  raw  material  must  under- 
go treatment  before  the  necessary  results  are  produced. 
The  language  of  the  blasphemer  cannot  be  as  blasphemous 
in  fiction  as  it  often  is — and  with  less  effect — in  actual 
life ;  the  language  of  the  bookworm  cannot  be  so  pedantic, 
the  dialect  of   the   woodsman   cannot   be   so   illiterate.20 
There  is,  when  the  best  effects  are  attained,  nearly  always 
a  toning  down  or  a  toning  up  from  the  actual  into  the 
idealized;  and  language  thus  idealized  may,  through  its 
suggestive  power — the  very  product  of  this  modifying  pro- 
cess— carry  the  desired  impression  home  more  truly  than 
would  verbatim  repeating. 

7.  There  are,  then,  pitfalls  in  the  way  of  the  tyro 
when  he  undertakes  to  report  dialogue  for  fictional  effect. 
Some  of  these  have  already  been  hinted  at;  he  may,  for 
instance,  fall  into  the  error  of  choosing  words  that  the 
person  he  has  conceived  would  ~be  unlikely  ever  to  use,  and 
of  neglecting  words  that  would  be  exceedingly  natural  to 

20  "Cannot  be,"  yet  they  frequently  are;   for  not  a  few  writers 
depend  upon  exaggeration,  not  adjustment,  in  dialogue. 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING         245 

the  same  person.  Or  lie  may  throw  the  speech  into  a 
sentence-form  that  is  unnatural  or  untrue,  forgetting  that 
normal  speech — the  standard  he  must  keep  in  mind — is 
usually  uttered  in  comparatively  short  sentences  composed 
of  comparatively  simple  and  familiar  words.  On  the  other 
hand,  he  may  forget  that,  though  ordinary  conversation 
shifts  rapidly  and  irrelevantly  from  topic  to  topic,  fiction 
dialogue  must  be  so  directed  that  its  stages  accomplish 
each  a  definite  purpose — the  expression  of  a  mood,  the 
advancement  of  an  incident,  the  presentation  of  a  theme, 
and  so  on.  Actual  conversation  may  and  does  meander, 
but  dialogue  in  fiction  must,  even  when  it  seems  to  linger 
and  stray,  drive  forward  to  a  point,  and  its  substance  and 
its  manner  must  each  be  determined  with  this  point  in 
mind. 

8.  Other  pitfalls,  too,  there  are.  One  of  the  widest, 
deepest,  and  least  suspected  of  these  is  that  of  attempted 
brilliancy.  The  writer  fancies  that  it  is  his  opportunity 
and  his  duty  to  supply  "  scintillating  coruscations "  of 
fine  phrasing  and  wonderful  repartee  for  the  delight  of 
enraptured  readers;  whereas,  it  is  his  business  to  find 
out  how  groceryman  John  Jones  and  schoolteacher  Sally 
Smith  will  speak  in  the  circumstances  in  which  he  has 
imagined  them,  and  to  report  their  words  with  the  least 
amount  of  "  improvement "  that  is  consistent  with  giving 
them  the  appearance  of  truth  to  life.  In  the  conte  espe- 
cially is  there  small  opportunity  for  that  egoistic,  or  ego- 
tistic, exploitation  of  the  author's  conversational  brilliancy 
which  to  the  apprentice  seems  so  desirable.  For  the  short 
story  does  not  exist  as  a  vehicle  for  the  author's  public 
parade  of  his  own  wit  and  philosophy;  it  exists  solely 
to  body  forth  a  single  conception  of  certain  persons  acting 


246  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

out  a  certain  set  of  incidents  until  they  reach  a  conclusive 
outcome.  Act  or  speech  that  does  not  clearly  aid  in 
bodying  forth  this  coherent  and  climactic  passage  from 
life,  has  no  place  in  the  conte.  Whether  it  has  a  place  in 
the  novel  is  quite  another  matter;  it  may  have,  and  it 
may  not. 

9.  Another  pitfall,  that  of  over-accuracy  in  the  report- 
ing of  speech,  has  already  been  explained.  Truth  to  con- 
versational effect  is  not  attained  by  stenographic  transcripts 
of  what  the  persons  say;  it  is  attained  rather  by  omitting 
the  large  amount  of  irrelevant,  redundant,  and  verbose 
detail  which  they  ordinarily  speak,  and  heightening  and 
simplifying  the  part  of  their  speech  that  remains.  Effec- 
tive dialogue,  therefore,  seems  like  actual  conversation, 
but  is  indeed  merely  its  substance  and  manner  idealized. 
Yet  another  pitfall,  that  of  attempted  self-revelation,  gapes 
just  along  the  pitfall  of  attempted  brilliancy.  Emphati- 
cally, the  "  message  "  that  the  young  writer  feels  he  has 
for  the  world  does  not  call  for  preachment;  not  often  is 
his  philosophy  of  life  important  to  the  telling  of  his  story 
except  in  so  far  as  he  owes  to  it  his  point  of  view.  Rather, 
it  will  reach  the  world  most  impressively  through  the 
characters  he  conceives,  the  persons  he  presents,  the  scenes 
he  chooses  to  set  forth,  and  the  atmosphere  that  he  creates 
from  all  these  materials.  Any  other  "  message  "  is  second- 
ary in  importance  to  that  which  his  story,  unclouded  by 
accompanying  philosophizing  or  sermonizing  not  vitally 
involved  in  its  own  narration,  will  carry  to  the  reader. 
And  moreover,  though  in  long  fiction  there  is  sometimes  a 
place  for  extraneous  matter  of  this  sort,  in  the  conte  there 
is  no  separate  place  for  it.  If  it  cannot  be  packed  into  the 
substance  of  the  story,  it  cannot  be  taken  along  at  all; 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING        247 

it  is  excess  baggage,  and  as  such  should  be  packed  and 
transported  separately.21 

10.  Particular  hints   on   the   management   of   speech 
in  dialogue  need  not  be  further  multiplied.    The  beginner, 
however,  will  be  bothered  by  the  problem  of  "  he  said  "  and 
like  expressions.    He  should  try  to  avoid  the  necessity  of 
oft-repeated  "  saids  "  by  casting  the  dialogue  in  such  form 
that  the  identity  of  the  speaker  will  be  plain  without 
specific  indication.     When  verbs  of  utterance  are  neces- 
sary, they  should  be  varied  from  speech  to  speech.     This 
prevents  monotonous  repetition,  and  affords  an  opportunity 
to  characterize  the  speech  by  indicating  its  quality;  thus 
"  drawled  "  will  be  full  of  characterization  when  "  said  " 
or  "  remarked  "  will  be  colorless.     Long  lists  of  synonyms 
for  "  said,"  "  remarked,"  etc.,  will  be  found  in  books  and 
periodicals  upon  writing  and  composition.     The  question 
which  evidently  has  no  purpose  except  to  afford  an  opening 
for  explanation  or  answering  speech,  is  baldly  inartistic; 
as,  "  What  did  you  do  then  ? "     Devices  for  indicating 
broken  or  hesitating  speech,  and  the  like,  are  almost  entirely 
mechanical.    If  the  dialogue  calls  for  such  speeches,  means 
of  indicating  the  desired  effect  will  suggest  themselves. 
They  should  always  be  simple — a  dash,  a  line  of  leaders 
( ),  and  the  like. 

11.  The  question,  Dialect  or  no  dialect,  and  if  dialect, 
how  much  ?  may  be  raised  here.    The  dialect  story  is  not 
in  as  great  favor  as  it  was  at  one  time.    It  was  a  form 
of  the  local-color  story,   and  this  too  has  fallen  off  in 
popularity,  although  it  has  by  no  means  disappeared,  nor 

21  But  distributed  comment  may  be  effectively  used,  introduced  in 
association  with  dialogue  by  means  of  commenting  words  placed  before 
or  after  the  speech. 


248  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

will.  A  story  strong  in  dialect  may  prove  a  pleasant  varia- 
tion, affording  new  opportunity  to  show  the  underlying 
nature  of  man  working  out  the  course  of  human  life  in 
new  surroundings — for  when  dialect  is  important  in  a 
story,  the  persons,  setting,  and  environment  are  usually 
also  somewhat  different  from  the  formal  standard.  A 
story  calling  for  much  New  England  dialect,  for  example, 
is  likely  to  be  a  story  cast  and  staged  to  show  New  England 
village  life,  New  England  seacoast  life,  New  England 
lumbering  life,  or  the  like — the  life  of  some  more  or  less 
separate  and  distinct,  if  not  isolated,  social  group  in  its 
characteristic  environment.  There  is,  of  course,  no  reason 
why  the  speaker  of  any  dialect  cannot  be  brought  into  the 
most  familiar  and  usual  surroundings,  and  there  portrayed, 
provided  that  his  introduction  into  and  continuance  in  this 
alien  environment  be  made  plausible. 

12.  In  managing  dialect,  one  great  danger  is,  that  the 
dialect  will  be  overdone.    Both  speech  and  spelling  can  be 
made  extreme.     Merely  a  salting  of  dialect  terms,  and  a 
restrained  employment  of  dialect  spellings,  will  be  more 
successful  than  the  building  up  of  freakish  speech  such  as 
never  was  on  sea  or  land.    In  indicating  speech  intended  to 
have  a  foreign  tang — the  language  of  foreigners  attempting 
English,  or  the  English  rendering  of  a  foreign  tongue — the 
introduction  of  foreign  words  in  large  numbers  should  be 
avoided;   instead,  employ  a  fairly  literal  translation  of 
the  foreign  idiom  over  into  English.     And  no  historical, 
foreign,  or  other  dialect  verisimilitude  ever  resulted  from 
the  mechanical  employment  of  titles,  names,  and  phrases 
that  are  merely  formal  and  conventional  devices— the  gad- 
zooks,  'sbloods,  and  car-r-rambas  of  brummagem  imitation. 

13.  The  foundation  of  successful  dialogue-reporting  is 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING        249 

now  plain — the  same  foundation  as  that  of  successful  por- 
trayal of  character  and  individual  action.  The  writer 
must  know  his  people,  his  society,  and  their  environment. 
He  must  know  not  merely  what  people  in  general  talk 
about,  and  what  they  say ;  he  must  know,  also,  what  persons 
of  the  particular  class  with  which  he  is  dealing  talk 
about,  and  what  they  say,  and  how  they  say  it.  Thus  we 
come  back  yet  again  to  the  counsel  that  cannot  too  often 
be  emphasized  for  those  who  wish  to  write  fiction:  get 
out  among  people;  learn  men,  their  ways,  their  thought, 
and  their  speech.  No  writer  who  was  even  moderately 
skillful  in  the  use  of  his  pen,  ever  had  insurmountable 
difficulty  in  presenting  either  dialogue  or  deed,  incident 
or  motive>  who  knew  his  people,  their  ways,  and  their 
world. 


THE  QUESTION  ANSWERED 

A  number  of  the  questions  often  asked  by  beginners  in 
short-story  writing  are  here  set  down  and  answered  briefly 
by  themselves,  although  most  of  them  are  answered,  at 
least  by  implication,  in  the  preceding  pages. 

What  is  climax?  Climax  is  the  rise  of  the  plot  and 
interest  to  its  heights  of  suspense  and  emotion.  Really  the 
term  covers  all  the  period  in  which  this  rising  effect  is 
evident ;  but  it  is  often  used  to  indicate  merely  the  height 
of  the  climax. 

What  is  suspense,  and  how  is  it  produced?  Suspense 
is  a  stirring  of  present  interest  coupled  with  a  strong 
sense  that  we  are  approaching  some  climactic  situation 


250  SHOBT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

or  incident,  the  nature  of  which  we  strongly  wish  to  learn. 
This  interest  is  produced  by  selecting  significant  material 
and  combining  it  gradually  in  such  a  way  that  the  reader 
perceives  a  steady  increase  in  its  total  importance,  and 
thus  is  led  to  follow  the  action  through  until  the  outcome 
is  revealed.  Suspense  is  greatest  at  the  climactic  height, 
but  its  accompanying  interest  does  not  cease  until  the 
outcome  is  made  clear.  But  in  order  that  the  interest  shall 
continue,  the  outcome  should  not  be  too  long  postponed 
after  the  climactic  height  is  passed. 

Shall  I  try  to  forecast  the  outcome  to  the  reader?  Not 
if  you  must  betray  the  outcome  to  do  so.  But  if  the  fore- 
casting so  hints  the  outcome  as  to  stimulate  interest,  raising 
a  doubt  or  an  expectation  even  while  seeming  almost  to 
settle  it,  the  effect  is  good.  This  is  one  means  of  creating 
suspense;  the  facts,  incidents,  or  hints  make  us  expect  an 
outcome  of  significance.  (But  in  a  story  that  shows  the 
steady  advance  of  fate,  the  effect  is  produced  largely  by 
the  sense  that  the  struggle  is  futile;  therefore,  the  fore- 
casting may  be  plainer.) 

Is  it  advisable  to  introduce  opposed  atmosphere  or  tone 
elements?  They  may  be  introduced  for  the  sake  of  con- 
trast, and  in  longer  stories  different  movements  may  have 
each  a  different  atmosphere  or  tone.  But  the  final  effect 
must  be  one  of  unity,  not  of  incongruity. 

How  can  I  be  "  original "  ?  By  having  energy  and 
thoughtfulness  enough  to  create  a  viewpoint  of  your  own 
in  you,  and  then  by  daring  to  see  the  world  from  your 
point  of  view.  Originality  implies  independence,  observa- 
tion, knowledge,  and  power  of  expression.  Perhaps  it  is 
largely  a  matter  of  temperament,  and  therefore  a  gift  of  the 
gods ;  yet  it  can  be  encouraged  by  means  of  resolute  and 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING        251 

discriminating  independence  of  view,  and  it  can  be 
destroyed  by  submitting  to  influences  that  produce  blind 
acceptance  of  stock  ideas.  Systems  of  education  that 
constrain  all  pupils  to  the  same  kind,  quality,  and  extent 
of  achievement,  have  been  charged  with  destroying 
originality.  The  accusation  may  not  be  without  founda- 
tion. 

What  must  I  do  to  attain  ff  compression  "  ?  Employ  the 
fewest  possible  means  for  establishing  the  fact  and  creating 
the  effect  that  you  are  concerned  with  (economy  of  detail)  ; 
suppress  inessentials ;  reject  materials  that  but  moderately 
serve  your  purpose,  and  choose  those  that  are  pre-eminently 
effective.  But  do  not  think  that  compression  means  the 
complete  stripping  of  the  narrative  to  the  bone ;  write  all 
you  need  to  write — managing  your  presentation  skillfully 
— to  accomplish  your  purpose. 

You  strike  out  so  much  of  my  detail;  isn't  it  necessary 
to  motivate  and  explain  the  various  things  that  happen? 
It  is  necessary  to  motivate  everything,  but  not  to  explain 
the  motivation.  For  illustration :  A  person  in  your  story 
is  on  one  side  of  the  street ;  it  becomes  necessary  to  have 
him  on  the  other  side.  You  need  not  explain  how  he  comes 
to  cross ;  it  is  immaterial  whether  he  crossed  to  look  into 
a  show  window  or  to  flirt  with  a  young  woman.  All  that  is 
necessary  is,  that  it  seem  reasonable  to  have  him  on  the 
other  side.  People  cross  the  street  for  every  sort  of  reason 
and  no  reason:  why  explain?  In  a  word,  then,  explain 
only  when  explanation  is  unescapable;  otherwise,  make 
certain  that  the  thing  is  reasonable  and  plausible,  and  let 
it  explain  itself.  In  the  main,  well-managed  motivation 
requires  no  explanation;  it  requires  only  presentation. 

Must  the  motivation  make   the   outcome   of  my  plot 


252  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

inevitable?  No;  otherwise,  where  would  there  be  any 
conflict  ?  Ordinarily,  there  are  two  equally  possible  out- 
comes up  to  the  decisive  moment ;  only  then  does  one  out- 
come become  inevitable  and  the  other  impossible. 

Does  the  problem  story  have  an  outcome?  Not  always; 
see  The  Lady  or  the  Tiger?  If  it  have  any  outcome,  this 
outcome  will  be  of  such  character  that  it  merely  emphasizes 
the  problem  raised  by  the  preceding  facts. 

Can  I  tell  a  story  within  a  story?  You  can,  but  you  had 
better  not.  Even  in  novels  the  story  within  a  story  is 
often  pretty  awkward ;  in  the  conte  there  is  little  place  and 
less  reason  for  it.  Probably  ninety-nine  of  every  hundred 
story-within-a-story  narratives  could  be  remodeled  to  avoid 
this  awkward  method. 

How  can  I  get  thoroughly  familiar  with  the  persons  in 
my  story  ?  Before  beginning  the  story,  write  the  biography 
of  each  person;  show  him  up  to  yourself  in  this  history, 
so  that  you  have  a  record  of  his  past,  his  characteristics, 
and  know  him  better  than  he  knows  himself.  Then  you 
won't  have  to  stop  so  often  to  ponder  whether  his  action  is 
according  to  his  character  or  not — quite  likely  deciding 
upon  inconsistencies  through  this  fragmentary  method  of 
creating  your  persons. 

7s  the  document  form  of  narration  good  for  the  short 
story  ?  Any  form  is  good  that  works,  but  the  management 
of  letters,  notes,  telegrams,  diaries,  and  the  like,  calls  for 
well-developed  selective  judgment,  extreme  skill  in  con- 
densation of  language,  much  skill  in  suggesting  incidents 
from  the  documents,  and  a  light,  sketchy  manner  of  com- 
position. 

How  long  ought  the  beginning  to  be?  Make  it  as  short 
•  as  you  can  without  losing  its  effect.  Keep  it  in  proportion 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING        253 

with  the  narrative  proper.  Of  course,  when  the  action 
begins  with  the  beginning,  we  can  scarcely  say  that  the 
story  has  a  separate  division  called  the  opening. 

Ought  I  to  revise  much  ?  Of  course  you  ought,  and  to 
rewrite  too.  Not  infrequently  a  complete  recasting  of  plot 
and  narrative  is  necessary. 

Are  poetic  words  out  of  place?  Not  if  they  fit  them- 
selves to  a  poetic  thought  and  this  thought  fits  the  tone, 
purpose,  and  subject  of  the  story.  Otherwise,  they  are  out 
of  place. 

How  can  I  acquire  style?  Don't  try  to — directly. 
Strive  rather  to  report  accurately  what  you  observe  and 
think  and  feel.  Study  words  and  language  only  with  a 
view  to  becoming  more  able  thus  to  set  down  truly  and 
adequately  what  you  have  in  mind.  If  you  can  do  this, 
you  will  have  style  in  abundance — provided  what  you  have 
in  mind  is  of  value.  In  other  words,  don't  struggle  for 
"  style " ;  struggle  for  thought,  imagination,  sympathy, 
understanding,  and  the  power  to  utter  what  is  in  you.  In 
any  other  sense,  "  style  "  is  a  snare  and  a  betrayer. 

Why  do  so  many  writers  spealc  of  the  labor  of  author- 
ship ?  Because  authorship,  seriously  pursued,  is  laborious. 
Don't  get  the  idea  that,  when  you  take  up  the  writing  pro- 
fession, you  are  going  for  a  picnic  lunch  in  the  cool  of 
the  evening.  If  you  want  an  easy  job,  take  up  farming 
instead. 

What  short-story  writer  should  I  take  as  a  model? 
All — and  then  none.  Every  writer  who  has  done  well 
enough  to  get  a  story  into  a  reputable  periodical  is  likely  to 
show  you  something  from  which  you  can  profit.  But  don't 
copy  models ;  learn  principles  and  apply  them.  It  is  you 
that  will  make  your  story  worth  reading  if  anybody  does  so. 


254  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

But  wont  imitating  help  me ?  It  may,  at  least  in  your 
earlier  apprenticeship.  Some  persons  can  benefit  materi- 
ally from  imitating,  merely  for  practice  purposes.  But 
this  is  a  sort  of  inductive  study,  exactly  as  is  the  copying 
of  a  great  master  by  a  student  of  painting;  he  copies  in 
order  to  discover  (a)  just  what  the  effect  is  that  the  master 
worked,  and  (b)  just  how  he  managed  things — his  prin- 
ciples and  devices — to  work  that  effect. 

Who  is  the  best  short-story  writer?  The  man  who  ob- 
serves most,  understands  best,  sympathizes  deepest,  most 
masterfully  creates  new  persons  and  situations  out  of  what 
he  knows,  and  most  clearly  embodies  in  language  the  fruits 
of  an  abounding  imagination. 

Why  do  you  strike  out  my  descriptive  beginnings?  Fre- 
quently because  they  are  not  openings.  A  true  opening 
does  more  than  merely  stand  before  the  story ;  it  "  be- 
longs " ;  it  does  something  that  the  telling  of  the  story 
calls  for,  and  calls  for  at  that  place.  Besides,  your  descrip- 
tion keeps  getting  in  the  way  of  the  action.  Why  describe 
when  dramatic  action  is  waiting  impatiently  for  a  chance 
to  begin  ?  And — you  make  them  too  flowery ;  your  story 
often  raises  the  suspicion  that  you  wrote  it  just  for  a 
chance  to  work  in  the  description. 

How  shall  one  block  out  the  plot?  After  getting  the 
working-plot  and  synopsis  clearly  in  mind,  make  an  action- 
plot  or  a  scenario.  Study  the  method  of  writing  scenarios 
or  action-plots  for  photoplays,  and  frankly  follow  that. 

Where  can  I  study  motivation?  In  the  great  novels, 
short  stories,  and  plays,  and  on  the  stage.  The  better 
class  of  photo-dramas  sometimes  afford  excellent  studies 
in  motivation — but  keep  away  from  most  of  the  European 
films,  the  melodrama,  and  the  slapstick  comedy.  Photo- 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING         255 

dramas  written  expressly  for  the  screen  show  motivation 
better  than  do  adaptations  of  plays,  novels,  etc. 

Tell  me  how  to  learn  to  write  dialogue.  Listen  to  others, 
watch  their  tones,  pronunciations,  mannerisms,  peculiari- 
ties of  inflection,  and  vocabulary,  etc.,  etc.  Then  practice ; 
write  out  talks  that  sound  true.  Keep  it  up.  You  can  get 
some  practice,  too,  by  writing  out  dialogue  to  accompany 
scenes  from  photoplays.  Imitate;  talk  in  the  character 
of  the  person  whose  conversation  you  are  trying  to  repro- 
duce. Remember,  successful  fiction  writing  requires  you 
to  put  yourself  in  the  place  of  the  person — and  do  in 
imagination  what  he  would  do. 

How  can  I  put  my  personal  beliefs  into  a  story?  Don't ; 
write  a  sermon — maybe  someone  would  care  for  them  there. 

I  see  plenty  of  stories  but  can't  discover  a  theme  for 
them.  You  write  the  story ;  let  the  reader  find  the  theme. 
'Twill  be  there  if  you  really  have  a  story. 

I  can  think  of  plenty  of  themes  y  but  I  can't  find  stories. 
Quit;  or  if  you  go  on,  drop  the  themes  and  think  of 
nothing  but  plots,  people,  and  stories. 

Ought  one  to  write  about  horrible  subjects?  Sometimes ; 
sometimes  not.  As  long  as  the  painful,  the  repulsive,  and 
the  horrible,  are  part  of  life,  art  will  be  under  the  impulse 
and  the  obligation  to  interpret  them.  But  too  much 
horror  destroys  the  pleasurable  esthetic  emotion  that  art 
is  supposed  to  aim  at.  Commercially,  the  answer  depends 
on  your  reading  public.  There  is  a  steady  market,  of  a 
certain  sort,  for  "  thrillers  " ;  but  if  one  does  not  wish  to 
specialize  in  this  border-line  sort  of  stuff,  he  had  better 
keep  the  horrible  in  a  subordinate  relationship  to  his 
other  materials.  Unpleasant  stories  are  not  desired  by 
the  magazines  that  "  cater  "  to  the  "  average  "  reader,  and 


256  SHORT  STOKIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

even  the  best  magazines  will  seldom  handle  stories,  even  of 
power  and  literary  excellence,  that  stir  the  emotions  too 
strongly  with  intense  motifs  productive  of  a  depressing  or 
unpleasant  reaction.  Naturally,  the  artist,  when  he  has 
such  a  story  to  write,  will  write  it,  and  the  God  of  Things 
as  They  Are  will  recognize  the  labor  even  though  the  gods 
of  things-as-we-doctor-them-up  can't  really  follow  Him  that 
far,  don't  you  know. 

Why  are  a  good  many  of  the  most  noted  short  stories 
based  on  intense  motifs?  Because  the  short  story  (conte), 
like  the  lyric,  is  especially  adapted  to  presenting  situations 
strong  in  feeling.  We  hear  that  "  the  short  story  gives  us 
only  a  crisis," — an  assertion  that  is  not  strictly  accurate, 
but  that  emphasizes  an  important  tendency  of  the  short 
story.  And  as  we  all  know,  emotion  concentrates  and 
breaks  at  the  height  of  the  crisis.  Like  this  climactic 
height,  the  intensity  of  this  emotion  is  transitory.  We  do 
not  remain  in  a  transport  of  feeling  long  at  a  time.  Hence 
the  short  story,  developing  some  brief  situation,  is  pecu- 
liarly suitable  for  presenting  those  situations  in  which 
horror,  grief,  and  other  intense  emotions,  are  uppermost. 

The  short  story  is  so  inadequate;  one  cant  present  the 
universal  in  it.  Can't  one?  Can  he  present  it  even  in  a 
novel  ?  If  you  mean  that  one  can  present  only  a  bit  of 
a  fraction  of  the  universal,  we  won't  dispute.  Presenting 
the  universal  merely  means,  when  interpreted,  selecting 
incidents  and  persons  and  situations  that  are  representative 
of  life,  and  handling  them  in  such  a  way  that  they  suggest 
a  broad  range  of  other  situations  in  which  similar  condi- 
tions exist.  Does  not  Ameera,  in  Without  Benefit  of 
Clergy,  clearly  and  inescapably  suggest  the  universal  fact 
of  woman's  love  and  mother-devotion  ?  After  all,  "  pre- 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING         257 

senting  the  universal  "  is  just  one  of  our  cant  phrases ; 
nobody  knows  the  universal  truth ;  the  best  we  can  do  is 
to  seize  upon  some  aspect  of  it,  and  set  it  forth  so  that 
others  shall  see  it  too.  And  any  artist — short-story  writer 
or  other — can  do  that. 

What  is  social  characterization?  It  is  the  making  clear 
of  social  conditions  such  as  enter  into  the  story.  Anything 
that  shows  general  facts  about  the  society  and  life  sur- 
rounding the  persons  and  incident  of  a  story,  accomplishes 
social  characterization.  Study  Merimee's  Corsican  stories 
Mateo  Falcone  and  Colombo,,  and  Maupassant's  A  Piece 
of  String,  for  passages  in  which  the  society  appertaining 
to  the  central  persons  and  incident  is  characterized.  Many 
of  Barrie's  stories  can  be  called  social  characterizations, 
because  they  interpret  Scotch  conditions  so  clearly;  a 
similar  thing  could  be  said  of  Mrs.  Freeman's  New  Eng- 
land stories.  Stevenson's  A  Lodging  for  the  Night  is  strong 
in  social  atmosphere,  or  characterization.  Social  charac- 
terization may  sometimes  give  background  (The  Piece  of 
String,  Without  Benefit  of  Clergy),  and  sometimes  explain 
motive  and  act  (Falcone;  Morrison's  On  the  Stairs). 

Is  it  good  practice  to  divide  the  story  by  means  of 
asterisks  or  chapter  numbers?  Some  books  say  it  is  not. 
Good  writers  do  it.  As  the  narrative  drama  often  consists 
of  separate  movements,  scenes,  or  situations,  it  seems  non- 
sensical not  to  mark  these  off  when  they  become  long  or  are 
distinctly  separated  in  the  structural  plan. 

Can  the  short  story  interpret  national  character?  What 
else  do  Barrie's  Thrums  stories  do?  Is  not  this  what  is 
done  in  part  in  Kipling's  An  Habitation  Enforced  ? 

What  are  character  hints?    Acts,  words,  etc.,  that  give 


258  SHORT  STORIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

us  a  suggestion  of  the  character  from  which  they  spring. 
What  sort  of  man  has  his  room  decorated  with  pictures  of 
bathing-girls?  What  sort  uses  perfume?  or  walks  two 
miles  to  the  post  office  to  trade  a  spoiled  postcard  for  a 
good  one  ?  or  buys  twenty-five-cent  cigarettes  and  takes  his 
wife  candy  at  twenty  cents  the  pound  ?  Similarly,  there 
are  picture  hints,  mood  hints,  and  incident  hints. 
Picture  hint :  A  rugged,  long-faced,  slender  old  man,  with 
his  mouth  even  wider  open  than  his  eyes. — Mood  hint: 
Penny  Kod  grabbed  for  his  hat,  and  not  getting  it,  danced 
a  howling  anger-dance  at  the  feet  of  the  bean-pole  sixth- 
former. — Incident  hint:  Grimes  went  about  methodically 
bandaging  his  hand  in  arnica-soaked  strips  of  old  flour- 
sacks.  "Hit  something?"  asked  Davis.  Grimes's  jaw 
set.  "  Hard,"  he  answered  laconically.  After  a  pause, 
he  added:  "They  had  the  doctor." 

Why  do  my  descriptions  seem  so  vague  ?  Because  they 
are  vague.  You  don't  visualize,  or  you  at  least  visualize 
but  dimly.  You  explain  a  scene  or  an  act,  instead  of 
seeing  it  in  your  mind's  eye  "  just  as  real  as  real "  and 
then  writing  down  what  you  see.  Train  your  imagination 
to  picture  things  to  you  so  that  you  clearly  see  them. 
Clear  visualization  is  one  chief  explanation  of  Shak- 
spere's  greatness. 

My  first  scene  will  be  good,  and  then  I  run  down. 
What's  the  cause  of  that?  Lack  of  staying  power  and  im- 
patience to  get  the  story  in  writing.  You  get  a  workable 
idea  and  think  out  a  scene  to  begin  with;  then  you  are 
in  such  a  hurry  to  see  how  the  story  will  sound  that  you 
slap  down  the  rest  of  your  narrative  without  waiting  to 
work  it  out  incident  by  incident  and  detail  by  detail.  You 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING        259 

want  your  cake  before  it  is  done,  or  you  haven't  the  en- 
durance to  stay  with  the  job  long  enough  to  do  it  properly. 

What  are  the  important  elements  of  a  setting?  Show 
me  the  setting  and  I  will  try  to  tell  you.  There  are  as 
many  kinds  of  setting  as  there  are  kinds  of  bores.  A 
setting  may  be  material  or  psychological,  moral  or  im- 
moral, picturesque  or  commonplace,  colorless  or  full  of 
color,  silent  or  noisy,  quiet  or  full  of  action,  clean  or 
dirty,  depressing  or  animating,  and  so  on,  and  on  again. 
The  important  elements  of  any  setting  are  those  things  that 
make  it  especially  useful  for  your  action,  theme  impres- 
sion, etc.  Find  out  what  that  needs,  and  then  study  the 
setting  for  the  right  qualities  to  meet  the  requirements. 

What  'books  do  you  recommend?  The  book  of  life. 
After  that,  any  that  will  broaden  your  mind,  better  your 
taste,  develop  your  sympathies,  inspire  you  with  the  spirit 
of  words. 

I  want  to  write  romance,  but  all  my  material  seems  so 
commonplace.  You  are  blind  on  the  romance  side,  and  are 
holding  your  hand  over  the  realistic  eye.  Give  yourself 
a  good  long  opportunity  to  discover  romance  in  the  common 
things  of  life,  and  if  you  fail,  take  up  the  writing  of  an 
Advice  to  Girls  column  in  a  newspaper.  Honestly,  can't 
you  see  the  romance  in  that  love  aff air  between  Billy, 
the  hardworking  clerk  in  the  drugstore,  and  Grace,  in  at 
Miss  Beeson's  shop  ?  "Nor  in  young;  lawyer  Kane's  fight  to 
keep  Younger  the  hardware  man  from  getting  control  of 
the  coal  supply  of  your  village  ?  Look  again. 

In  getting  material  to  adapt  in  new  stories,  how  far 
back  ought  one  to  begin  in  the  magazines?  About  six 
thousand  years,  If  he  wants  really  to  be  honest  as  well  as 


260  SHORT  STOKIES  IN  THE  MAKING 

safe,  he  ought  not  to  "  adapt "  anything  published  later 
than  the  year  one  before  the  creation.  One  may  find  hints 
and  suggestions  of  new  plots,  new  themes,  new  stories, 
anywhere;  but  there  is  an  uglier  word  that  means  the 
same  as  "  adapting." 

How  can  I  criticise  my  own  work  ?  That  is  difficult  to 
do,  but  if  you  are  serious  you  will  find  a  way.  But  self- 
criticism  presupposes  dramatic  and  literary  insight — the 
gift  of  perceiving  when  a  piece  of  writing  is  well  achieved 
or  the  opposite ;  if  you  lack  this  qualification,  even  earnest- 
ness will  not  help  you.  You  must  also  cultivate  an  im- 
personal attitude  toward  your  completed  work;  so  that 
you  shall  be  able  to  regard  it  as  unconcernedly  as  if  it 
were  your  neighbor's.  Few  persons  can  criticise  their 
writings  to  advantage  while  the  composition  is  still  recent ; 
hence  the  excellent  advice  so  often  given,  that  stories  be 
laid  aside  and  allowed  to  "  cool  "  before  criticism  is  at- 
tempted. 

My  friends  say .  Pray  to  be  delivered  from  your 

friends.  Supposing  them  to  be  otherwise  qualified,  they 
are  prejudiced  by  their  friendship  for  you.  Some  won't 
wish  to  offend  you ;  others  will  think  what  you  write  good 
because  you  wrote  it ;  others  will  be  flattered  by  the  chance 
to  commend  or  disapprove  a  "  real  author." 

How  long  shall  I  wait  before  inquiring  about  a  manu- 
script submitted  to  an  editor?  Be  careful  not  to  submit 
to  doubtful  periodicals ;  then  give  the  editor  all  the  time 
he  seems  to  want  up  to  six  months.  The  longer  he  keeps 
your  story,  the  better  the  chance  that  he  is  pleased  with  it. 
If  you  wish  to  make  certain  that  the  MS.  is  delivered,  en- 
close a  postcard  with  it  in  this  form : 


OTHER  PROBLEMS  OF  FICTION-WRITING        261 

.19., 


Receipt  acknowledged  of  MS 

submitted  to  this  magazine  at  owner's  risk. 


By. 


Such  a  card  is  not  necessary,  but  most  offices  will  fill  it  out 
without  grumbling.  Above  all,  when  you  do  make  inquiry, 
don't  do  so  in  a  complaining,  grouch-begotten  manner.  Be 
courteous  and  business-like. 

Are  market-notes  in  the  writers'  magazines  accurate? 
Many  of  them  are  as  accurate  as  circumstances  permit. 
But  often  they  are  no  more  so  than  is  a  news  item  in  a  trade 
journal,  telling  of  the  existence  of  a  market,  but  indicating 
absolutely  nothing  of  the  responsibility  of  the  firm.  Don't 
send  MSS.  hit  or  miss  on  the  basis  of  such  information. 
Some  publishing  firms  so  reported  are  little  better  than 
fly-by-nights. 

Can  I  copyright  my  story  in  advance  of  publication? 
No.  Our  copyright  law  leaves  the  writer  without  any 
protection  from  dishonest  publishers,  who  can  print  his 
work,  copyright  it  themselves,  and  refuse  to  make  settle- 
ment in  any  way.  Such  publishers  are  usually  law-proof. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Accident  in  motivation,  86  ff. 
Acknowledgments,  ix. 
ACTION     (also    see    Acts,    Inci- 
dent). 

Conte  requires  persons  in,  15- 
18. 

In  creation  of  effect,  25-26;  36- 

-  43;   140  ff. 

Defined,  37. 

In  plot  story,  36-43. 

As  plot  element,  72. 

Movements  in,  99  ff. 

In  opening,   140  ff. 

Affecting  sequence,   161. 
Action-plot,  76  ff. 
Activity,  37;   136;   140-141. 
ACTS   (i.e.,  deeds  and  conduct  of 
persons   in   action). 

Single     acts     not     conclusive, 

207  ff. 

Actual,  The   (see  Facts). 
"  Adapting  "  previous  work,  259. 
Adventure  story,  42. 
Allegory,  10. 
Anecdote,  9. 
Anti-theme   (see  Foil). 
ART. 

Fundamentally  moral,  178  ff. 

Itfot  communicable,  xi. 
Artist  (see  Author). 
ATMOSPHERE. 

Emphasized   for   effect,   25-26; 
54-70. 

Atmosphere  story,  54-70. 

Defined,  55  ff. 

How  made  to  appeal,  58;   63- 
68. 

Setting    and    environment    in, 
59  ff.;   257. 

In  the  opening,   127  ff. 

Affecting  sequence,  165  ff. 

Through    dialogue,    231  ff. 

Inconsistent  elements,  250. 


AUTHOR. 

His  artistic  impulse,  1-2. 
Best  preparation  of,  7-8 ;  52  ff. ; 

63-64;   68-70. 
Must     know     his     materials, 

189  ff. 
Ferment  vs.  sound  conclusions, 

189  ff. 

Artist's  eagerness,  190. 
A  reporter  of  life,  1  ff. ;  190  ff. 
Author's       "  view      of      life," 

194  ff.;         212  ff.;         241  ff.; 

255. 
Author  and  public  taste    (see 

Reading  Public). 
Author's   attitude   toward   his 

persons,  212  ff. 
Authorship  is  labor,  253;  258. 

Books  for  story-writer's  reading, 
259. 

Censorship    (see    Moral    Quality 

and  Purpose  Story). 
CHARACTER    (see  also  Character- 
ization ) . 

As  a  plot  element,  13-15;    15- 
17;   25-26. 

Character  story,  43-54. 

Defined,     47-50;     69-70;     206- 
207. 

Influences   that    affect   it,    47- 
50. 

How   manifested,   50;    207  ff.; 
222  ff. 

How  presented,  50;   214  ff. 

Self-consistency  of,  52. 

In  the  opening,  148. 

As  unifying  means,   181  ff. 

Author's  attitude,  212  ff. 

How  conceived,  214  ff. 

Types,   (208-218)  ;  218-219. 

Physical   description,   222  ff. 


265 


266 


CHARACTERIZATION       (see      also 

Character). 

What  it  must  note,  50. 
Its  means,  51. 
Affecting  sequence,  162  ff. 
Initial  characterization,  163  ff. 
Character  and  person,  182  ff. 
Problems  of,  206  ff. 
Emphasizes    individual    traits, 

208-212. 

Class  traits  in,  208  ff. 
Interpreted  by  author,   212ff. 
Traits  portrayed  how,  214ff. 
Character  creation,  208-220. 
Intimate    knowledge    required, 

219  ff. 
Stock    persons,    208-212;    221- 

222. 

By  physical  description,  222  ff. 
By  analysis,  225  ff. 
By  act,  deed,  etc.,  227  ff.,  and 

passim. 

Through  dialogue,  234  ff. 
Character  hints,  257. 
Character   sketch    (see   Sketch). 
Class  traits,  208  ff. 
Climactic    moment     (see    under 

Plot). 

Complication    (see  under  Plot). 
Compression    (see  Economy). 
Concentrative    material,    107ff.; 

232  ff. 

Conclusion  not  inevitable,   16. 
Concrete,    the,    in    art     (litera- 
ture), 3ff. 
CONDUCT  (see  Acts). 
Conflict  (see  under  Plot). 
Congruity,     87  ff.;     90  ff.;     250; 

253;   255. 
Consequential  exposition,  171  ff.; 

231. 
Consistency.      (See   Plausibility, 

under  Plot.) 

Constructive  imagination,  6. 
CONTE. 

Employment  of  this   term,  x. 
Defined,  8-23. 

Is  a  drama  in  narrative,  10  ff. 
Classified,  25-26. 
Tested  by  what,   192  ff. 
Adapted     to     "  studies     from 
life"?,  215-217. 


CONTE  (Continued). 

Adapted  to  intense  situations, 

256. 

Copyright  law  defective,  261. 
Creative  imagination,   6-7. 
CRISIS    (see  Plot,   Climax  in). 

Defined,  15-18. 

Uses,  24. 
Criticism,  self  and  friends,  260. 

Decisive  moment    (see  Plot). 
Denouement.         (See      Outcome, 

under  Plot.) 

Description  in   setting,   141-145; 
165-166;   254;   in  character- 
ization, 164;  222. 
Detail,  redundant,  251. 
Dialect   (see  Dialogue). 
DIALOGUE. 

In  opening,  139  ff. 

Varied       usefulness,       139ff.; 

229  ff.;    241  ff. 

Exposition  by  means  of,  230  ff. 
Atmosphere  secured  by,  231  ff. 
As  intensifying  means,  232  ff. 
As  characterizing  means,  234  ff. 
Management  of,  235  ff.;  241  ff.; 

254. 
Indicative  of  inward  character, 

236  ff. 
Adapted  to  person,  place,  etc., 

237;   242  ff. 
Language  determined  by  what 

influences,  237  ff. 
Requirements   of,   241  ff. 
Verisimilitude     secured     how, 

241  ff. 

Adapted    from    normal    talk. 

242  ff. 

Misuses  of,  243  ff. 
Dialect,  247  ff. 

Didactic  stories,  26-27. 

"Discovery,"  89. 

Distribution  of  detail  (see  under 

Plot). 
Divisions,  or   chapters,  in  short 

story,  257. 

Documentary  form,  252. 
Dramatic  defined,  13-15. 
Dramatic  values,  191  ff. 

Economy  of  means    (or  detail), 
17;     23;     66ff.;     80;     116; 


IHDEX 


267 


153;     167;    182;    188;    208- 
212;    243-244;    251. 

Emotional  appeal  (see  Atmos- 
phere, esp.  58,  63  ff.)- 

Emphasis  of  material  (see  Econ- 
omy of  Means  and  Concen- 
trative  Matter). 

Ending  (see  also  Outcome,  un- 
der Plot,  and  Falling  Ac- 
tion], 169  ff. 

Entertainment  an  end  of  fiction, 
Iff. 

ENVIRONMENT. 

In  atmosphere,  56;^  58  ff. 
Concerned  in  sequence,   165  ff. 

Episode,  9. 

Ethics  (see  Moral  Quality  and 
Didactic  Story). 

Experience,  5  ff . 

Exposition   (see  under  Plot). 

Fable,  10. 

Fact  and  reality,  4 ;   in  fiction, 

5. 
Facts,      dramatic     values      (see 

Dramatic  Values). 
Falling  action    (see  Plot). 
FICTION. 

Aims  of,  1-8. 

Light  forms  of  are  legitimate, 

7. 
Foil,  69. 

Generating     circumstance      ( see 

under  Plot). 
Grand  Climax  (see  Plot,  Climax 

in,    and    Climactic   Moment 

in). 

Horrible,  The,  255. 

Human   nature    (see    Character, 

Characterization ) . 
Humor  in  the  conte,  65. 

Imagination  and  its  forms,  4-8. 

—  imagined  fact,  4  ff . 
Imitating  models,  253-254. 
Imitation     (i.e.,     copying)      im- 
possible in  art,  214  ff. 
IMPRESSION    (  SINGLE  ) . 

Essential  to  effect,  17. 

Defined,   19-23;   32;   36. 

Test  of,  21. 


IMPRESSION  (Continued). 
Kinds  of,  24-26. 
How  achieved,  181  ff. 
Impulse  in  acts,  207-208. 
INCIDENT    (also  see  Action). 
In    plot    construction,    13-15; 
36  ff.;     41;     95  ff.;     100  ff.; 
passim  under  Plot. 
In  creation  of  effect,  25-26. 
Plot  and  intensifying,  107  ff. 
Grouping  of  (see  Sequence). 
Incident    (as   a   form  of  narra- 
tion), 9. 
Inciting     moment      (see     under 

Plot). 
Ingenious      complication     plots, 

38  ff. 

Initial  response,  155. 
Integration   (see  also  Concentra- 

tive  Material),  166ff. 
Intensifying  incident    (see   Con- 

centrative ) . 
Interest,   92;    100  ff.;    126;    129- 

136;    140-141;    249. 
Interpretation   in   fiction,   1-8. 

—  how  best  effected,  2ff. 

—  by  theme,  34  ff. 

—  by  contes,   256-257. 

Keynote    struck    (see   Opening). 
Knowledge      of      materials      re- 
quired,   189-206;    219  ff. 

Language    to    fit    thought     (see 

also  Congruity),  66. 
Length  in   "short"  story,  22  ff. 

Man  and  his  relationships,  44  ff. 
Market    notes   in    literary   jour- 
nals, 261. 

Massed  detail   (see  under  Plot). 
Memory,  imaginative,  6. 
Model   writings,    253-254. 
Mood    (see  Atmosphere). 
Moral  quality  in  art,  178  ff. 
Motif,  96. 
MOTIVATION,  MOTIVE. 

Incidental  reference  to,  10-12; 
13-15;    251;   254. 

Defined,  15. 

As  requisite  of  plot,  72;  96  ff. 
Movement     ( advancing    stages ) , 
99  ff. 


268 


INDEX 


Moving  pictures   as   study  aids, 

160. 
Mystery  story,  40-41;    123. 

Narrator's  "angle"  (who  shall 
tell  the  story?),  138;  143- 
144. 

Novelet,  9. 

OPENING. 

Functions  of,  122-125;  137. 

Contents  of,   122-126;    130  ff. 

Interest  in,  126  ff.;  137;  140  ff.; 
148. 

Requisites  of,  132;  135. 

Management  of,  137ff.;   252. 

Dialogue  in,   139ff. 

Action  in,   140  ff. 

Setting  in,  141  ff. 

Massed  material  in,   141  ff. 

Character  in,  148. 

Action  and  the  opening,  149  ff. 
Order     of     events      (see     under 

Plot;  also  see  Sequence). 
Originality,  250. 
Outcome    (see  under  Plot). 

PERSONS   (also  see  Character). 
Must  be  shown  in  action,   15- 

18. 

Initial  characterization,  163ff. 
Description  of,  163  ff. 
Person    and    characterization, 

181  ff. 

Subordinate,   182ff. 
Choice  of,  218. 

Stock  types,  208-212;  221-222. 
Author's  history  of,  252. 
Philosophical   prologue,  33-34. 

—  epilogue,  173. 
Philosophy  of   life,    65;    194 ff.; 

212  ff.;  246  ff. 

Plausibility   (see  under  Plot). 
PLOT. 

Treatment  in  this  book,  ix. 
Loose,       close-wrought,       dra- 
matic,  10  ff.;    95;    97 ff. 
Dramatic,  10-15;  50;   71-72. 
Essential  form  in  conte,  16-18. 
Climax    in,     10-12;     18;     74; 
97  ff.;     168  ff.;     249.       (See 
also  Sequence.) 
Test  of  unified,  21-22. 


PLOT    ( Continued ) . 

In  creation  of  effect,  24-26. 

Conflict;      complication,      30; 
72;    85 ff. 

Outcome  in,  31;   36;    72;    75; 
115-121;  192;  250;  251;  252. 

Story  of   plot,  36-43. 

Congested,  41;   104;  252. 

Detailed  treatment,  71-121. 

Stage-plot   applies,    71. 

Essentials  of,   71. 

Motivation     ( see    Motivation ) . 

Order    of    events    in,    73;    80; 
122-124;    151  ff.;    226. 

Beginning,  middle,  end,  73. 

Exposition,  74-85. 

Exciting  moment,  74 ;  85  ff . 

Inciting  impulse,  74;   85  ff. 

Decisive    moment,    74;    93ff.; 
115-121. 

Climactic  moment,  74. 

Rising  action,   74;   92. 

Falling  action,  75;    115-121. 

Anticipatory  delay,  75;   155. 

Stages   of  plot   fullness,   76  ff. 

Distributed   detail,  80  ff. 

Massed    detail,    80  ff.;    141  ff.; 
166ff. 

Generating  circumstance,  80  ff. 

Accident  in,  87  ff. 

Plausibility    (consistency,  con- 
gruity),  90  ff. 

Development  of  plot,  how  man- 
aged, 95  ff.;   254. 

Interlocking   incident,   97  ff. 

Movements      (stages     of     ad- 
vance), 99  ff.;   104  ff. 

Incident    in    plot     (see     also 
under  Incident). 

Interest    value     of    incidents, 
100  ff. 

Subplot,  104;   252. 

As    carrier    of    non-plot    ma- 
terial,  107  ff. 

Telescoped  ending,   117ff. 

Distinct  ending,   169ff. 
Plot-germ,  abstract,  embryo,  etc., 

76  ff. 

Plot-incident,  107  ff. 
Problem  story,  30  ff.;    252. 
Problems  of  composition,  scheme 
of,  176-177. 


INDEX 


269 


PSYCHOLOGICAL — 

Conte,  50  ff . 

Narration,   50  ff.;   228. 
Public    (see   Reading  Public). 
"Punch"     (see   Interest}. 
Pure-theme    (see    Theme). 
Purpose  story,  27  ff. 

Reading  public,   23;    28-29;    45; 

192  ff.;   200  ff. 
Reflective  foresight,  47-48. 
Resistant  delay,  75,  155. 
Revision,  253. 
Rising  action   (see  Plot). 
Romance  in  common  things,  259. 

Scenario,  9;  76  ff. 

Selection  of  materials    (see  also 

Plot),  65  ff. 
Self-consciousness,  242. 
Sensational  methods,   129  ff. 
SETTING   (see  also  Atmosphere). 
In  atmosphere,  59  ff. 
In  opening,  141-145. 
In  dialogue,   144-145. 
In  regard  to   sequence,   165  ff. 
Massed,  distributed,   I66ff. 
Kinds  and  elements,  259. 
SEQUENCE.  ( See  also  Order,  under 

Plot.) 

The  opening  (see  Opening). 
Breaks     between     movements, 

151. 

Contributory  matter,  152  ff. 
Main  facts,  153  ff. 
Chronological     order,     123  ff.; 

154  ff. 
Non-chronological        order- 

schemes,  156. 
Distributed  detail,  157. 
Determined    by    author's    con- 
ception, 159. 
Cued  scenes,  160. 
Action  involved,  161. 
Characterization    involved, 

162ff. 

Environmental  matter,  165  ff. 
Climactic       height,        168  ff.; 

171  ff. 
In  characterization,  226. 


Short  Stories,  To-Day's,  Ana- 
lyzed, viii. 

Short  Story   (see  Conte). 

Significance  of  incident,  etc.  (see 
Dramatic  Values). 

Situation,  38. 

Sketch,  9. 

Social  characterization,  257. 

Sophistication  in  author  or  char- 
acter, 69-70. 

Speech   (see  Dialogue). 

Stock   persons,   208-212. 

Style,  253. 

Subjective  coloring  (see  Atmos- 
phere ) . 

Submitting  MSS.,  260-261. 

Surprise  story,  39-40;  117. 

Suspense   (see  Interest). 

Synopsis,  76  ff. 

Tale,  9. 

Taste,      public      (see      Reading 

Pullic). 

Telescoped  ending,  117ff. 
Temperament   in   character,   48- 

50. 
THEME. 

In  creation  of  effect,  25-26. 
Theme  story,  26-36. 
Denned    (26-31),  31-35. 
Moral  quality  in,  178  ff. 
Time  order  (see  Sequence). 
Time   unity  (see  Unity). 
To-Day's  Short  Stories  Analyzed, 

viii. 

Truths  of  life  in  fiction  form 
(see  also  Theme),  3  ff. 

Unities,  18;    178  ff. 
Universe  and  man,  44  ff. 

Vagueness,  cause  of,  258. 
Variety  in  character,  208  ff. 
Verisimilitude     (see    also    Con- 

gruity  and  Plausibility ) ,  92 ; 

241  ff. 
View  of  life   (see  Philosophy  of 

Life). 

Wit  (see  Humor). 
Working-plot,  76  ff. 


(/\nr 


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